Miniatus Vir
by Psalm 136
Summary: Scott ran when Jean died, leaving his world behind. He found an escape in drugs, booze and women, but he had to return. Can he give up the drugs? And what happens when his students are in danger? And why is John being nice? Did Logan just say I love you?
1. Name: Serious Desire

**WCUGirl has graciously betaed this chapter for me, because she is amazing. **

**Note: This chapter has a rating of M for mention of drug abuse, and the resulting withdrawals and inner struggles. It's rated for safety, and you read at your own risk. I will be dealing with some weighty issues, and if you don't like the idea of Scott going through detox and everything, then please, do not read. If there are any errors, please don't hesitate in correcting me through review or PM.**

**Disclaimer: Ah… these are so depressing. I do not own Scott. If I did, though, that'd be awesome.**

Scott Summers hated life. He hated himself. He hated being surrounded by people who were so much better, and deserved so much more, than he did. He hated being constantly reminded that he didn't have the only two things that had ever given him peace: Jean and drugs, though with the physical pain he was experiencing, he didn't know which hurt worse: thinking of her or living without her. He had known her every thought and every inch of her body, and it had been good. They had been one unit, breaking through every wall that tried to stop them. They were the epitome of what should become of any human being.

Then she died. Then he was alone. All he had then was a haze of alcohol. Then women joined that haze. Then lastly…drugs.

Scott didn't exactly remember how he had gotten drugs for the first time, or how he had gotten addicted so quickly. All he really remembered was being dependant on drugs to get him through four years of worthlessness and loneliness. Then he dropped a good ten grams of crack cocaine on the side of the road and left it behind. He could have coped if he had that, but no. He had to have a clear-minded moment and leave it behind.

He wanted, no, he _needed_ and in every way, desperately craved, that drug. It gave him a euphoria that couldn't be described with words. Oh, he knew it was playing with his brain, and that it was only hurting him. He knew every fact about almost every drug, but he still wanted cocaine, and that was that. He also knew exactly where he could acquire a couple of grams within ten miles. His hands shook at the very idea of finally having drugs back in his system.

Scott groaned as he leaned against the wall next to the toilet. He'd been vomiting for hours now. His body was reacting badly to the absence of cocaine in his system, and he wanted to sleep. He didn't have the motivation to get up and move back into bed, and would fall asleep there if he could. What was his life worth, if he couldn't find some semblance of peace? His entire life was one mess of problems and agony, and he had nothing to stop the flow of memories. He hated remembering, because that meant he would relive losing Jean, and that made everything worse.

His stomach half-heartedly gurgled, reminding him of a basic human need: food. He groaned, weakly hitting his fist against the floor in a show of weak anger. He didn't want to have to get up and enter the world again! He didn't need food. Hopefully, his body would give out from the lack of fluids reentering his bloodstream. He found himself begging for that possibility, and he didn't even try to stop it. As of late, suicide seemed to be a real option. However, the boy scout that was still surviving somewhere within him knew he didn't have the guts to do it. He would gladly put his life on the line, but he could never consciously take his own life, no matter how terrible things got. In some ways, that was a terrible revelation.

His body seized up in anticipation of another bout of vomiting, and he attempted to raise himself from the fetal position he'd curled up into to direct the fluid into the toilet bowl. His muscles ached, and he only managed to soil his t-shirt. He closed his eyes, rubbing them from behind the glasses. He used all of his strength to finally stand, and pulled his t-shirt off, discarding it into the nearest garbage can, which was, thankfully, right next to the toilet. He looked at the mess he'd made on the floor, and shook his head weakly. He'd clean it up later.

Scott almost forgot to take off the sweatpants he'd slept in before jumping into the shower. He couldn't focus on anything. His mind was consumed with memories of the euphoric sensations of drugs. He had, of course, experimented, but nothing seemed to work as well as crack. He turned the water on.

He didn't know how long he'd stood underneath the flow of water. One moment, it had been almost too hot, and the next, it was cold enough to make him shiver. He finally turned the knob and stopped the water. He stood there, dripping, and tears dribbling down his face. He didn't move for a long time.

Scott finally got out of the shower and dried himself mechanically. He went through his daily routine, almost as if nothing had changed. He shaved, combed his hair and dressed in a fresh black t-shirt and a pair of dark-washed jeans he had grown fond of. Women seemed to like the look on him. With those traitorous thoughts flitting through his mind on Jean's territory, he wanted to rip them off and never wear them again, but then he remembered that he didn't have any other clothes. He silenced the thoughts of other women from his mind. In fact, no specific thoughts ran through his mind for a while.

Scott left the guest room he'd been staying in and walked down the hallway after he'd shoved his shoes onto his feet. On autopilot, he found the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat at the counter. He set the glass of orange juice down, but didn't pick it up again to drink. He felt so drained from throwing up so many times. He wanted to find any comfortable surface and sleep the physical pain off. He found that sleep was the best way to avoid depression and his cravings. He couldn't sleep anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. His body simply refused to, even though he was drained and needed to recover.

"What a mess I've gotten myself into." He mumbled unintelligibly as he reluctantly picked up the glass and sipped it slowly.

Orange juice had a way revitalizing a person and awakening their senses. Scott experienced this and couldn't help from gulping the juice faster. He slowed himself slightly, remembering how sensitive his stomach had to be. He finished off the juice at a snail's pace, but his stomach reacted violently. With a burst of strength he didn't know he still possessed, he ran to the sink and leaned over it. He retched, and almost slid to the floor. His entire weight was against the counter and the sink. Any strength he'd gained from the juice was absolutely gone.

He was surprised that he was still conscious and standing from the way he felt. He was even more surprised to see a large hand reach over and turn the water on, washing the vomit away, and to feel two strong arms lift him up and carry him into the next room, which had comfortable couches. He was placed onto one of those comfortable couches and a soft pillow was placed beneath his head.

Scott's eyes had fallen shut as his mind accepted the comforting human touch from whoever had come to aid him, but they opened slowly as a throw blanket was placed over his weak form.

"Logan?" He blinked, trying to make sure his eyes weren't fooling him.

"Hey there, kid." Logan sat down where Scott's legs were, giving the younger man a comforting pat on the side. "You look like crap."

"No shit, Sherlock." Scott muttered, using his elbows to push himself up and get a better view of the room and Logan. "I feel like crap." He groaned, not having the strength to hold himself up. He slumped back down to a lying position, and then curled up as best he could with Logan sitting there. He groaned, feeling cramps creep up his calf and thigh muscles.

"What happened?" Logan asked, getting straight to the point. He knew what was going on; his animal senses hadn't failed him. He could smell the vestiges of something in Scott's system. He knew it was probably drugs, and the kid was going through withdrawals. He made a note to talk to the professor about getting Scott some help, in whatever form was necessary for him.

"Crack happened." Scott snapped. "Whatever the hell you think you know, just shut up," He added, when Logan seemed about to speak. "It helped, damn it, it helped. And now, I don't want to have to be depending on it, but I really need it, but I can't leave because I promised the professor I'd stay, but I need it." His words were running together, and were barely understandable, but Logan got the gist of it.

"Hey! Kid." Logan got his attention easily. "Just stay here. You're going to be okay. You don't want the drugs; you won't have the drugs. We're going to get you clean." He was surprised at the amount of friendly-touchy-feely 'nonsense' that was spilling out of his mouth. "Okay, Scott?" He still had some form of contempt or disappointment or something with the man, but he had learned from a good man that some people didn't deserve second chances, but you gave second chances anyway. Scott definitely fit the bill. He hadn't exactly been Boy Scout material, but he was going to get the second chance he needed to survive.

Scott looked at his old rival distrustfully, glaring as best as he could with weakened limbs. The glare fell away; he didn't have the energy. "All of this is going to go away?" His weak fingers reached out for Logan's wrist and found it. He clung to it. "You promise?" He felt like a child. "'Cause I'll kick your ass if you're lying." Not so much like a child.

Logan smirked and pulled his hand from Scott's grasp. "I promise. Now get some sleep. I'm going to talk to the Professor."

Scott promptly fell asleep with the promise that his agony would end. He would sleep for that, and as long as his body would allow it.

_Scott's eyes opened, and suddenly, he was in a white room. He was dressed in white clothing, but his eyes didn't hurt from the stark color. In fact, he enjoyed the cleanliness. He was completely alone in a room, and he didn't mind. There was no more pain, no more drug cravings, and no more harmful memories of everything he'd lost. _

_A woman appeared in the form of Jean. She was in a white dress, reminiscent of a wedding gown, and she joined him. She touched his face and kissed him with love. Their hands suddenly joined and they stood, looking into each other's faces. _

"_I love you." He murmured._

"_You are pathetic." His beautiful Jean suddenly morphed into that blasted blue-skinned creature, Mystique. She wrapped her hands around his neck, almost gently, and made to choke him to death._

He woke up shivering, and his stomach heaved. "Oh God, gonna…" A gentle hand touched the back of his neck and pushed his hair back away from his face as he threw up into a garbage bag. A loving hand stroked his cheek and murmured gentle words into his ear. He threw up several more times and laid back, his stomach still unsettled, but he felt no more need to vomit more of his stomach's bile.

"Scott, I need you to drink this broth. Sip it." Ororo's voice instructed him firmly.

He obeyed her without words and sipped at the mug she placed at his lips, reaching up weakly to try and help hold the mug. Ororo's gentle hand continued to stroke his hair and forehead, her warm body beside him on the couch. When he had finished all of the meager serving of broth, he leaned his head against her lap, which was closest to where his head was when he was lying down. She helped him sit up and slid underneath his back so his head would be lying on her crossed legs.

"I don't feel so well, Ororo." Scott admitted wearily.

Ororo smiled down at him. "I know, Scott. That's why you have to rest now. I know all of those toxins leaving your body, and not being put back in is a terrible process, but you will be alright." She bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He nodded, and turned his head for a more comfortable sleeping position. He fell asleep once again.

When Scott woke up once more, he was no longer in the sitting room. Instead, he was back in the guest room bed, and Professor Xavier was sitting at his bedside. The room was softly filled with the sound of classical music being played on a boom box on his nightstand. The professor didn't know he had awakened; his eyes were fixed on the large novel in his hands. If he squinted, he could almost read the title, but his eyes were blurry.

"Professor…" Scott groaned. "Why are you here?"

"Ah, Scott." Charles Xavier smiled in relief; his son was awake. "I was worried for you, and I wanted to be here so we could talk when you are ready. Not talk about what you are feeling, but our options to get you clean. That is what you want, correct?"

"Oh God, yes, just make this stop." He felt himself hating the entire world and himself in that moment. The agitation at himself… the muscle pain… the nausea and vomiting… all typical signs of drug, specifically cocaine, withdrawals. The enhanced depression, he thought, disassociating himself with the situation for a moment, was even a sign, though the depression had been a constant throughout his entire life.

Charles wheeled himself closer to the bed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Then we will do everything we can. Any and every method of rehabilitation will be available to you. I have faith in you, Scott. You can do this." He smiled grimly. It hurt Xavier, and everyone who knew of Scott still at the mansion, that a beloved man so close to them all was hurting physically and emotionally.

Goodness, this was going to be a longer road than anyone had expected.

"Thank you." Scott mumbled, closing his eyes against the world. "This hurts so much. I can't believe I've done this to myself. I'm a failure, Charles. A failure. I owe it to Jean to take care of myself, but I've destroyed myself." A few tears escaped through his closed lids and trailed down into the pillow. "I'm worthless."

"Scott, there's nothing I could ever say to you to prove to you otherwise. You're going to have to discover for yourself that what you've done has no reflection on who and what you are. You are a good man, and only did what was necessary to survive." The professor, the caretaker of every young child who entered his halls, smiled at his favorite son, and took Scott's hand. "Just rest now, Scott. Tomorrow's troubles will come tomorrow. You need to rest and regain all of that energy you've lost. A meal will be waiting for you when you wake up. Bobby, Ororo or myself will be there."

"What about Logan?" Scott found himself asking.

Charles smiled as the sound of a toilet flushing entered the room. The door to the bathroom opened, and Logan stepped out. "Sorry, did I miss anything?"

"He's been here the entire time." Charles answered with a fond smile. "I'll leave you two alone."

Scott turned over onto his side, facing the bedside table. Logan pulled a chair up and sat near the bed. Both men were quiet, and the classical music still chimed in the background. It was a soothing blend of soft piano solos and ensembles of flutes, clarinets and other pipe-like instruments. He recognized it as one of his own. His lips quirked slightly at the recognition and closed his eyes.

"Scott, what the hell happened to you?" Logan wondered aloud. "You are so… "

"Messed up?" Scott offered glumly.

"Different, but we can use yours too." The Wolverine growled at the thought. "What happened to you?"

Scott sighed, opening his eyes a crack. "You wouldn't understand how much I loved her, and how much I needed her. I knew her better than I knew myself, and she knew me better than I could comprehend. Life's never been easy, but she made it tolerable. She was a constant strength that I drew from, and I lived because of her. There really was never another reason." He explained, his words coming slowly and slightly slurred because of his illness and his muscle weakness. "And when she was gone… I had to leave. I couldn't survive in our world when she wasn't there."

Logan nodded, but didn't interject. Scott needed to express the last seven years. Not for Logan, the professor or anyone else but himself. He needed to work some things out as they cleaned his body and mind of the need for cocaine.

"So I ran. I tried everything to forget her, or to at least make things stop hurting." Scott's voice dropped to a whisper, and Logan could only hear him due to his heightened senses. "Crack made things stopped hurting. God, it made me feel good for once. I was hooked from the start. I wouldn't eat. Instead, I would buy crack. I think I lost twenty pounds in the first year, which was…" He mentally calculated the time. "Four years ago, I think. I need the drug. It's either cocaine or Jean, and I don't have either, and I don't know how to cope."

Logan nodded. He didn't understand, not at all. He had no idea of the pain Scott had gone through, simply because he had never loved anyone like Scott had loved Jean. He had loved Jean, in his own, but his love seemed like a cheap infatuation to the depth of the soul connection that Scott and Jean had shared. He'd always known it, but seeing the wreck that Scott was without Jean, he wondered how the man was going to survive.

"Damn it, Logan, help me up." Scott groaned.

"Oh, I don't think so, Scooter." Logan's eyebrow rose.

"At least get me a couple aspirin, then." He negotiated.

_I don't think so, Scott._

Scott swore venomously. "Damn it, he listens to everything." He slumped back into the bed, before his temper flared again. "No one understands how much I need those drugs! Get away from me!" He yelled at Logan, who was trying to calm him down. "Just get out of my way. I'm fine!"

Scott threw the covers from his body and stood up. He steadied himself against the wall after he'd stumbled a few feet forward. Then, he promptly collapsed, his legs not cooperating with his mind's intense need for cocaine. Whatever small control he still had over his emotions crumbled, and he was reduced to sobbing into Logan's chest, blubbering unintelligibly.

Logan set Scott down into the bed, plopping down on the edge, letting the younger man get every tear out. Scott trembled and shook, vomiting small amounts of broth and stomach fluid. Logan cleaned it up with a washcloth that was in a bowl of warm water on the bedside table. He gathered up the former leader of the X-Men in his arms, and Scott clung to him. Scott shuddered, and slowly pulled away.

"You need to get some sleep."

"No… I don't…" Scott muttered. "I need… drugs…" The last statement came out as a desperate moan, one last plea for salvation.

"I'm sorry." Logan pulled the covers over Scott's body and turned off the lamp, but left the music on. It seemed to soothe them both. "I can't."

"I hate you." Scott managed to say before he fell back into sleep.

"Thanks, Summers." Logan smiled fondly in the dark. "You too."


	2. Clean Up The Mess You Made

**As always, kudos go to WCUGirl for awesome betaing. Also, thanks to my two reviewers- you guys are great! I don't want to seem like a feedback addict, but I am, so if you read this, please review, it really makes me happy.**

**Disclaimer: What do you take me for? Someone who could OWN X-Men? That's HILARIOUS!**

Scott's face was completely buried in a pillow when he finally awoke. His body was delightfully heavy, and he was tempted to stay as he was. He shifted slightly so his right cheek was pressed against the pillow and groaned. Cramps had formed all along his back; he was getting older and his body was feeling it. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was even and slow. He could feel sleep pulling him back into it's comforting arms, to protect him from the horrors of reality that awaited him, should he open his eyes and enter the world. It was tempting.

His stomach growled, and his eyes opened. Oh well. Tomorrow, perhaps, he could forget about the world. Right now, he was hungry.

His eyes fell on Ororo Munroe who'd looked up from the book she'd been reading when his stomach growled. She smiled at him, and stood up, placing a bookmark into her book and setting the book down on the chair. He managed a half-smile in return. She seemed encouraged by his responsiveness, and began what many men referred to as 'mothering'. It was a frightening situation to be caught up, if one is male and wishes to shoulder his cares on his own. However, the female doing the 'mothering' is most intent upon getting aforementioned male to come to terms with reality: he cannot do everything on his own, and sometimes need others to care for him, and that all things come in time; he will be able to stand and protect those he cares for soon, but he must protect himself before he can protect others.

"Good morning Scott, did you sleep well?" She asked, her soft accent comforting him profoundly. Scott wasn't an idiot, and knew there would be much emotional damage he needed to fix between them. He also knew that things weren't perfect like he'd wanted them to be. There were a lot of things he needed to atone for, but now was not the time for that.

"Yes, I did." He told her, feeling the peace that good sleep can bring. "I feel better." He added, anticipating her next question.

"That's good." She smiled. Scott could see the relief on her features. The road ahead was going to be hard, they both knew this, but the relief the small things could give was enough to tide them over. That is, unless he screwed up again. He couldn't do that, not to the school and mansion and the team, not again. "Hungry?" She asked.

"Yeah." He exhaled, looking over at the bedside table where a small tray had been prepared for him. There was fresh fruit, vegetables, and what appeared to be a hearty stew. He leaned over and took a deep breath. His mouth watered. That was hearty stew, and it was going directly into his stomach. He hesitated, however, and looked up at Ororo. "Do you know if this will make me sick?" He didn't want to throw up ever again. It made him feel wretched, and it caused him to remember that he had destroyed his body, and had ruined his own life. He, of course, did not remember that he could clean up the mess he made, or the fact that there were people who cared about him. All he knew when he threw up was that he was a failure. But let's look at the bright side: at least his teeth were getting very, very clean.

"Take it slowly, and you should be fine." She handed him the tray. "Scott, I'm going to get the professor."

Scott nodded, already wielding the spoon to bring warm stew into his mouth. He had to force himself to focus only on the stew and how mind-numbingly amazing it tasted, not on how much he wanted to toss the food aside and get some drugs. It was strange to think that he was awake and hadn't thought of them yet, but then he realized they were always on the edge of his mind, waiting for a moment of weakness. Then they would strike with their condemnation and whispers that he was worthless without them. He didn't want to give in, but at the same time, he wanted to throw in the towel and just feel good. Suddenly, the journey ahead of him seemed impossible. His fingers trembled, almost spilling stew all over his shirt and he looked down, his eyes glistening with tears.

_Don't worry, Ororo, I'm already on my way. We have a lot to talk about, Scott._

"Will you stay?" Scott suddenly asked, his voice quiet. His eyes were downcast, and the stew didn't have his attention anymore. His mind screamed at him for drugs, blaming him for the physical pain he was experiencing. All of the madness in his mind was making his head hurt, and he wanted to scream. "I'm afraid." His voice was barely audible, even in the completely silent room.

Ororo knew how much this admission meant. He wasn't just afraid of what he and the professor needed to talk about, he was afraid of being alone. He was frightened of what he had become, what he could be. He was tormented by the thought of facing an enemy he'd embraced as a lover. She was hurt by the things he had done in the past. It was true, she hadn't forgiven him yet. It would take time, but time wasn't something that Scott had. He needed help, and he needed it now, and if being there would help him, then she would be there.

She'd never been faced with a drug problem before. She'd heard about it on the news, and knew some basics about it, but the situation had never become personal until now. She had no idea of what Scott was going through, and it even made her afraid. She didn't know this man. She knew a younger Scott, and had seen him grow into a man, and seen him love and lose and break and regain everything that had been taken from him. She didn't know this broken, despairing version, but she still loved him. She always had, in a way that wasn't defined by six A.M. conversations or giggles over ice cream. Theirs had been an unspoken relationship; it wasn't obvious how much they needed each other until it came down to the wire. She took a deep breath, and decided something. She decided she would be there for him every step of the way, no matter how scary it was for her. It wasn't about her anymore, after all.

"I'll stay." Ororo sat back down, and touched his shoulder. "You know you can do this, right? We're right here, Scott. Don't forget that."

Scott covered her hand with his. "I know." He replied simply as the professor entered the room. Oh, that was a lie, but he didn't feel that admitting the fact he doubted the love she had for him was the best thing at the moment. He'd hurt her so much already; leaving after Jean's death, not contacting her for a good seven years, and showing up and dumping all of his problems on her wasn't the best material for a great rapport.

"Good morning, Scott." The professor greeted in a regal, sunny way that comforted both Scott and Ororo. It was simply undeniable; he was their father, and he would protect them. It seemed unfair to place such responsibility on one man's shoulders, but it seemed to be the natural order of things; Charles Xavier would take care of everything. "How are you?"

Scott pushed himself up into a sitting position. He held in a painful hiss as his muscles screamed in protest. Maybe he was getting old or something, but his joints seemed to be refusing to do what his brain wanted them to do. "Better, I think." He nodded, running a hand through his bed hair. He was thankful he had slept in semi-comfortable clothes, and that he'd taken a shower before he'd fallen asleep again. He wanted to ask what the professor wanted, but he was unable to phrase it in a polite way. He didn't bother even trying. Thoughts of cocaine seemed to consume him, and he was distracted.

His eyes began to scan the room, as he did a mental check of all of his possessions. All he owned as his motorcycle, some clothes, and everything in his and Jean's room. He could feel his arms shaking slightly as he forced himself to remember what exactly was in the room, and if he could get enough money for even just a couple grams of cocaine. It didn't occur to him that thinking of using his dead fiancée's jewelry to get money for drugs was one of the ultimate betrayals. Neither did it don on him that Professor Xavier was a mutant with the power to read minds. All he could think about was how he had a dollar bill in the pocket of one of his pants, and how he could use

"That's good." The professor wheeled himself closer. "Scott, do you want to get clean?" He asked, his voice soft. He had never enjoyed flipping through someone's mind as if it was a magazine in a waiting room, but, as a father figure to Scott, he wanted to protect his "son". He knew if Scott had been aware of the presence in his mind, he would have felt absolutely betrayed, but Charles couldn't focus on that. Scott's thoughts made him… confused, for lack of a better word. He didn't understand how Scott could be taking into account every obstacle that could be in his path from where he was sitting on the bed to the nearest crackhouse. He made a mental note to ask Logan to watch Scott for him, irrationally frustrated with the younger man for still wanting something that was destroying him. Xavier could rationalize it all he wanted, but that didn't change his fierce emotions when it came to protecting any one of his students, all of whom he considered his children.

Scott was startled by the question, and stared down at the comforter he'd slept underneath. He fiddled with his hands, becoming increasingly anxious. He could feel Charles' and Ororo's stares burning into him, and his heart rate jumped to a dangerous level. He attempted to take deep breaths to calm himself, and tried to tell himself that there was no reason to become so nervous. That was when his cravings decided to kick in again, this time taking advantage of his weakened state. He ran his hands through his hair, blinking rapidly and trying to return to the present situation as he became aware of the cold sweat he was suddenly drenched in. If his muscles weren't currently rebelling, he would have curled up underneath the covers and cried like a girl who had gotten rejected by the cutest boy in school.

"Oh, God, yes." He gasped out, his eyes flicking back up to the professors'. "I want this to stop. I'm going crazy."

A grim smile formed on Charles Xavier's face. It was heartening to know that Scott knew he had a problem, and wanted to fix that, but it was heartbreaking to see a man he considered his son in such pain. It gave him new resolve that this could be fixed. Sometimes pain was necessary for a change. The adage did nothing to soothe the pain in his heart, but it was a reminder that change was possible. Charles nodded.

"Very well." He acknowledged. "There are many ways we can approach this, and there are many different programs we can go to for assistance in this. If you are feeling up to it, we can move to my office. I have gathered some information on many rehabilitation centers in the immediate area, and we can choose there." He invited, looking to Scott. The professor appeared to be as calm as he would be if he was talking about the weather. Over the years, if one paid enough attention, a person could see a fierce trend in Charles Xavier's behavior. Whenever things were the most pressured and personally painful, that was when he was able to separate emotion from his actions. His body would be moving, getting things done, while his heart would be torn up even further with every problem he solved.

Scott nodded silently, his eyes straying down to his hands, and his bare forearms. There was a small scar in the crook of his elbow. If he bent his arms slightly, as he was doing at the moment, it was impossible to see. He hated and loathed the scar, as passionately as he loved it. It was his injection scar. He swallowed as he took a peek at it. He quickly looked away, and then back to the professor, who had a strange look on his face. Xavier's features, usually content and composed, were contorted into an expression that conveyed how utterly helpless he was to help; he was doing all he could, but it wasn't nearly enough. Charles Xavier could not fix this, as he could not fix all of the hurts his students experienced, as he could not have saved Jean Grey, as he could not have stopped one Erik Lensherr from taking revenge. Scott averted his eyes, unable to respond to such an exorbitant amount of pain the professor was allowing himself to show.

"I… I don't want to leave the mansion, professor. I've been gone so long, and…" He trailed off, unable to phrase how much he desperately _needed_ to stay. It was his only lifeline left. He didn't think being surrounded by unfamiliar people and being forced to talk to people he didn't know would help him much. _But he didn't want to be helped._ He inhaled sharply at that thought. He did want to remain in his drug-induced haze for the rest of his life, but the resolved, determined, Boy Scout part of his mind knew he needed to change. He glanced at Ororo's face, and saw the calm composure of her face, the willing openness to help him, and knew he needed to change.

"I don't think I could deal with the change." Scott added to the end of his statement, and then forced his gaze back to the professor.

"Very well, then." Scott was shocked; what was the professor saying? He needed help, and certainly, he would have to be in an in-patient rehab center to change. "I made a call to Hank last night, explaining the situation. He agreed to help."

"But what about the government?"

"He retired a year ago, Scott," Ororo interjected. "He's been doing a lot of medical work here at the mansion, but he's been in Scotland to see some new research on cryogenics." She explained.

"He will be happy to help." Charles smiled.

Scott found himself comforted by the thought of having a close friend treating him and getting him through this process, physically. "Okay." He nodded, his lips and face muscles unable to smile. _I've just signed my own death warrant. I can't live without crack… I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it!_

"You can and you will, Scott." Xavier's voice was suddenly firm.

Scott nodded in acknowledgement. He wasn't ready to give up his own self-deprecating nature, but he'd keep it in mind; Charles knew he would.

"I'm glad we are making progress already. I will go and telephone Hank with the news." With an encouraging smile, the professor wheeled himself out the door and left Scott and Ororo.

"You're doing great, Scott. I have faith in you." She looked into his eyes as she made her statement, and the moment froze.

For that one moment, and he would keep that moment locked away in his heart forever, he believed her. Ororo had power about her. She could influence people as easily as she manipulated the weather. She chose her words wisely, and didn't try to butter anyone up with false flattery. When she said something, she meant it. Scott knew she had faith in him, and for a moment, he believed her that he was doing great, and the unspoken promise that he would make it through. For a moment, he felt strength swell in his soul, if not in his body, and it only hardened his resolve to make it through, no matter how difficult his cocaine-addicted mind would be. He would be free of this.

Ororo eventually took her leave, and left Scott alone.

Scott hated to be alone, almost more than he hated himself. When he was alone, it seemed so permanent, like no one would ever return. It was terrifying, and he would rather be destroying himself with others than to be completely healthy and alone. He shuddered as thoughts of cocaine assaulted him once more.

He remembered the euphoria that resulted, even the sensation of injecting or inhaling. He remembered it all so vividly, and he wanted it back. He couldn't stay in this room any longer. No matter how much he wanted to be clean and free, being in bondage felt so much better. It was easier. He was giving up, and it was shameful, but he didn't care. He couldn't deal with harsh reality. Life was easier to deal with through a haze of drugs. He tossed the blankets aside and stood up. His legs were wobbly, and his head seemed to swim from his recent bout of vomiting, but he was determined.

He strode over to the door right when Logan decided to pop in.

"Oh. You." Scott groaned.

"Yeah, me. Got a problem with that?" Logan asked, closing the door shut with a foot and placing his hands on Scott's shoulders.

"Yeah. Get out of my way." Scott snarled.

"What are you going to do if I don't?" The Wolverine asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Beat the hell out of you!" Scott returned, as if that should be obvious. His voice, however, didn't make the volatile mark he wanted it to. The statement, angry and full of venom as it was, was spoken as a moan. He didn't have the strength to threaten Logan, let alone attack him, and that dismayed him. He wanted to believe that maybe life could be normal, and time could rewind to before he left, when he and Logan would throw insults and death threats left and right. His life was too different and too frightening to deal with, and maybe if someone would act like he wasn't a basket case or a total nutjob, then things would get easier.

"I'd love to see you try." Logan smirked, and then gently pushed Scott back towards the bed. "Chuck wants you to stay in bed, or at least in the room. So I'm here to make sure you ain't disobeying his orders." It wasn't Logan's way to obviously care about anyone, save Marie. It had never been in his nature to be protective or caring, but he was scared. Scott Summers had been the epitome of goodness, a light in the dark, love in a world of hatred, and it had been damn convincing. Logan believed that nothing could ever snuff him out, and in a way, believed he was invincible, and had only ever taunted him to test that theory. Now, Scott was broken by his own hand. That worried him, and Logan wanted to help

Scott snorted. "He doesn't have any authority over me. I can leave whenever I want."

Logan's annoying smirk remained in place. "He may not, but I do." Scott swore that Logan was enjoying this tormenting. "So you're staying in here. Deal with it."

Scott growled. "Just get out of my way. I need drugs, and I'm going to get them." He froze. "Fuck." He muttered underneath his breath. He hadn't meant to say the last sentence. He hadn't even meant to think it, but it came tumbling off of his tongue anyway. His blood turned from a warm, flowing liquid to ice inside of his veins. He really did want to get drugs and ruin his chances of becoming free. But he didn't want to be free. Free meant being able to think of Jean as he walked through the halls, and of being able to connect anything to his time with Jean. Free was painful; he couldn't see it's worth.

Logan did feel bad for Scott, though he would never admit it aloud. The kid was dependant on the stuff to get him through everyday life. Everyday life must be hell for him without cocaine. Logan could see it in the desperation in his eyes, because Scott had once been the model of self-control, knowing exactly when to attack and when to pull back in battle, and when to comfort one of his students and when to push them to their limits and beyond, and he saw it in how he looked dangerous; he was willing to do whatever it took.

"I'm not gonna let you, and it's not 'cause I hate you. It's 'cause there are people, Ororo, Chuck, your students, hell, me, even, that want you to get better. I'm saying no 'cause I want you to have a chance." Logan crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Scott process that information.

"A chance at what? Anything that was good about my life is gone, now." Scott spat bitterly. "Life isn't worth it." He moved, as if in a daze, to the bed and sat down. He held his head in his hands and sighed. "Everyone hates me for leaving, as they should. I don't blame them. It's just harder because this is all my fault." He let out a small groan, the only indication that his body was crying out to him to make it feel better, to replenish the lost drugs. His body wanted drugs, he wanted drugs; why wasn't he getting drugs? Oh, yeah, because Logan was a dick and wouldn't let him get drugs.

Logan sighed, sitting down beside Scott, refusing to look at him. He wasn't good at this emotional crap, and if he was going to do the emotional crap, then he wasn't going to look at him. "Yeah, it's your fault." He replied bluntly. "But since it's your fault, it's your choice if you change it."

"Logan."

"What?"

"You've changed, and it's scaring the hell out of me."

"Good." Logan replied, his grin a feral smile. "I like that."

"Go to hell." Scott rolled his eyes.

"You first, Cyke." Logan clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "You okay?"

Scott took a deep breath, and thought about the question. It was definitely an innocent one, a question that was asked everyday. The question meant so much more now, and he wasn't going to lie. If he was going to do this, as people seemed to believe he would, then he was going to be honest. Apparently, getting real helped. He sighed.

"No, but better than I was." He paused. "Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"You gotta keep doing that, even if I don't want you to."

"No problem." There was the creepy feral grin again. Scott wasn't going to enjoy this.

Scott and Logan sat on the edge of the bed for several more minutes before Scott stood up, and bit down on his lip hard from the pain and sat back down. He looked down at his lap, and the blankets he was sitting on. He grabbed fistfuls and began to squeeze, and then unsqueeze, repeating the process over and over. His mind was flooded with thoughts of what was to come. He trusted Hank implicitly, but he was confused. He didn't know how treatment would go, and what restrictions would be placed on him. He wasn't sure if he would be allowed visitors or freedom to venture from the medlab. He appreciated the lab's sterility and cleanliness, but he didn't want to be imprisoned in it for a long period of time. If he was really honest with himself, he was terrified out of his mind. How would he cope with even the smallest things without a few grams of coke to run to? Was there a way to healthily make it through a day? He knew there was; he just didn't know what it was.

"Come on, Scott, let's go." Logan finally said, fed up with watching the boy scout attempt to choke the non-existent life from the comforter.

"Where?" Scott asked, pausing his pacing.

"I don't know, out. School's going on, so you don't have to worry about getting mauled by several dozen snot-nosed kids."

Scott swallowed as he wondered if he could break free and get off of the school's property to get the cocaine he needed so badly. He gave Logan a quick once-over, weighing his chances at outrunning the fitter man, and his odds were bad, and he hadn't even added in the variable of Logan's mutations. He cursed inwardly, and then nodded.

"Yeah, I guess."

The two ventured outside, but didn't get further than the bench on the outdoor stone platform that was often the scene for low-budget student dates. Logan sat on the left side, watching Scott out of the corner of his eye. He could smell the anxiety, fear and desperation as if Scott had been wearing a hundred dollar cologne, and watched all of their surroundings, knowing that if there were an opening, Scott would see it and might try to exploit it. Hours passed, and they said nothing. Logan saw fifteen openings, but Scott stayed put, lost in his thoughts.

When the sun was lower in the sky and the day's classes were about to end, Scott and Logan headed back inside.

"So, who all knows?" Scott asked randomly.

"Other than myself, Ororo, and the professor, Hank, Bobby and Marie." Logan answered shortly.

Scott nodded and sighed. He knew he owed it to his students to explain to them the situation, but he, admittedly, was too frightened. He knew the time for explanations would come, and that they would all do their best to accept him, but he felt such guilt hanging over his head. _Crack would erase the guilt._ Scott was tempted to rip his own hair out if it would make that annoying urge for cocaine stop. He was terrified of his own weakness, and there seemed to be no hope.

All would mend itself in time, that's what the professor had always said.

_I hope he's right._


	3. I'm Not Alright, I'm Broken Inside

**Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. If I did, that would be pretty cool, though. Neither do I own a certain line in the story. If you can point it out, and what movie it's from, you win a cookie!**

Dr. Hank McCoy, mutation aside, was not a man to be trifled with. He was at the forefront of most ground-breaking scientific studies, knew enough about physics and chemistry to make a lesser man's head explode, and was a medical doctor, great enough to do what others could not. All things considered, there was not a better man to mend and heal Scott Summers. That didn't mean either man, Scott or Hank, was ready to take on the challenge.

There were physical obstacles to overcome; they had to change Scott's very brain chemistry, for it had been too long dependent on an outward source for euphoria. It was likely they would have to do surgery to fix the cartilage between his nostrils for it was more than likely damaged from 'snorting' the cocaine. His lungs were probably damaged, and he might have long-term repercussions, ranging from a hoarse voice to asthma. Though there were addicts all around the world going through the same thing, this one case seemed much worse to Hank McCoy, due only to the fact that he personally knew and respected Scott Summers.

Dr. McCoy stepped off of the plane, heading directly to baggage claim. He waited impatiently, eyeing each bag as it passed him by. He found his luggage and left, pushing open the glass doors. He sighed as a burst of urban wind hit him full in the face, and looked around for a familiar person. He checked his cell phone for any missed messages, and found none. All appeared to be on schedule.

"Hank!" Someone shouted through the din of people loading into various methods of transportation.

Dr. McCoy turned around, watching the crowd for the woman who had called him. It was Ororo, and he smiled broadly. "Ororo! How good to see you."

Ororo smiled in return. "It's good to see you too. Come on, I have a car." She led him over to the black SUV, and they were off to the mansion, chatting cheerfully, each trying to pretend that a close friend of theirs wasn't in complete agony and that it wasn't dire need that drove Hank to be at the mansion.

The mansion during wintertime, for it was almost Christmas, was always beautiful. The trees were bare of leaves and covered in snow. There was a delicious bite to the cold morning air that was refreshing to the soul. The sky was a light gray, promising that even though the earth seemed dead, it would always recover. A chilling breeze danced through the world, but it wasn't strong enough to ruffle the snow that blanketed the rooftop.

It was into this icy world that Scott Summers had decided to venture. The room he had been staying it was beginning to feel like a prison, and he needed air. It was nerve-wracking to have people constantly watching him, though he appreciated the gesture when he wasn't overcome with panic of what Hank would say, for he and the doctor had been quite close, once upon a time, or fighting with a sense of craving. Trudging through the snow helped with both of those. It was easier to focus on a physical task, and outward circumstances, like marching through large patches of snow and the cold that seeped into his body from his wet jeans, than having to pay attention to his inward struggle.

He kept on trudging, for trudging is to walk the depressing walk of a man who has nothing left in life, until the mansion was hidden by a thin veil of trees. If he bent his knees slightly so his line of sight was below that limb, he could still see the mansion through the pine branches, but other than that, it was significant shelter from prying eyes. He stopped himself before he sat on the cold, although bare, ground. He sounded like a depressed teenager. That was a depressing thought in and of itself. He shrugged the notion off and sat down, rubbing his cold hands together, creating friction.

He had always loved being outdoors. It gave him a sense of freedom that he craved. He was always looking for a way to be free, to push the limits and to see how long he could last (hence, the need for more than one fast car and motorcycle). He pushed the boundaries of his mind, forcing everything he could into his head. He spent as much time as he could outside, even though he could only see in shades of red. He adjusted his sunglasses at this thought. He was grateful for the ability to even see, but sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to see in full color. Jean had projected images into his mind so he could see how many different colors were actually present in winter, and how vibrant the mansion looked in early autumn. She'd given him images of herself, and those were the ones he treasured the most. He was not a man prone to flights of fancy or quick impulses, but he knew he would willingly give up everything he was to see Jean without the impairment of his glasses and the danger of his blasts.

As Scott sat there on the ground, leaning his back against a tree and letting the cold air soothe away some of his withdrawal pain, He was still nauseous most of the time, and often flew off the handle at Logan or Ororo, though he always apologized afterwards (to Ororo, that is). He and Logan were beginning to understand each other; Logan didn't take any offense, and Scott needed to "shut his damn mouth and stop apologizing". He had a lot more energy and was starting to regain a somewhat normal sleeping schedule, and he didn't shake and beg for drugs as much. With all of this good progress, showing his physical withdrawal symptoms were slowly decreasing (he didn't like to think about his "morning sickness", as Logan so aptly put it, or the fact he sometimes didn't get up from bed or from a chair for hours because he was so depressed), he still had panic attacks any time he thought about never having cocaine again.

He wanted to stop being so dependant on the drug, because he logically knew that it would only destroy him. The thought of never reaching that sort of high again, however, was what made him freak out. It was absolute heaven, when the drug coursed through his veins, and to never feel that good again made life seem impossibly hard. It made life seem worthless. What was the point of life, if one never felt so wonderful? How did people survive without ever taking any drugs and getting that high?

The thought of actually living life again made his mind boggle. He hadn't been living life for a long time, and the possibility of regaining that made him slightly more optimistic, but at the same time, completely overwhelmed to the point he wanted to crawl underneath his fuzzy blankets and just sleep the day away. The journey to that point was utterly depressing, but the destination was tempting. The light at the end of the tunnel… that's what someone said to him when he had first been grieving Jean's death. Something about there being a light at the end of a tunnel, and he had to reach for it, no matter what. Now, and then, the light was a pinprick, like a faint star as the night begins. The tunnel was overwhelming, dominating and tyrannical.

"How am I going to do this?" Scott wondered aloud, groaning.

_Scott. Hank will be here in five minutes._

Scott froze, his eyes widening. Hank was approaching the mansion. Hank knew of the situation. A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to breathe and swallow. Tears sprang into his eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He would never touch cocaine or any other drug again. He would be empty and hollow, absolutely desolate. He forced himself to swallow and he stood up. Mechanically, he walked back to the mansion and went to his room, changing into another pair of jeans. He traversed Xavier's School, and walked down the main staircase that led to the foyer.

"Ready, Scott?" The professor asked from where he sat in his wheelchair, ready to welcome their guest into his home.

"I don't think I was ever ready." He ground out, forcing himself to stay planted in his place.

"I'm proud of you." Charles told him in a soft whisper, as if he was telling a great secret that pleased him greatly.

Scott offered him a half-smile, the best he could give at the moment. It did mean a lot to him, and he wasn't worried about seeming ungrateful (Xavier always knew; it was annoying sometimes). He just couldn't express it, and there was no time to try. He heard the smooth sound of tires against concrete.

"Ororo took the SUV?" He turned his head to look at the professor, who was amused that Scott still could tell which car was coming up the drive by the sound of the tires alone.

"Scott, Hank just got back from a scientific exhibit. I wouldn't be surprised if they needed to secure some of his bags onto the top of the car." Charles reminded him with an amused smile.

Scott watched the doorknob as it slowly turned, and the door opened to reveal Ororo Munroe, followed closely by Hank McCoy. He nodded slightly to Ororo, and then raised his eyes to meet Hank's. No words were exchanged for a moment as doctor and patient surveyed and examined each other. The silence was overbearing.

"Welcome, Hank. It is good to see you once again." Charles shook Hank's hand firmly and affectionately. "Ororo, I'm glad to see you encountered no problems on the way." The way he ended the sentence seemed like he was asking a question, and Ororo answered it with a smile.

"The drive over was wonderful. Hank and I were catching up." She gave Scott an encouraging smile. "I'll take your things to the medlab." She gave Scott an encouraging smile and reached for Hank's bags.

Hank placed a hand on her shoulder fondly. "Thank you, Ororo." The African woman left the foyer, disappearing into the hallway, heading towards the nearest elevator that led to the lower levels.

Scott felt trapped. His gaze shifted from Charles to Hank and back nervously, and his heart was racing. He was sure he felt some sweat form on his brow, and his hands were shaking again. He shoved them into his pockets and formed angry fists, trying to keep himself together. This was Hank. There was no reason to fear him. If he wasn't intimidated by the blue fur or the superhuman strength, then he shouldn't be frightened. Whoops. Too late. He was terrified.

He ground his teeth together in an effort to keep them from chattering, and it seemed that a brief moment of silence was taking far too long. In reality, he would later recall it was probably only a split second of awkwardness before Hank began talking, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"Scott, it has been far too long since we have last seen each other. Seven years, isn't it? Those glasses definitely look worse for wear. Looking for an updated pair?" Hank began conversationally. He smiled, and it was fascinating to Scott that he could smile and act so naturally without seeming patronizing. That was quite the mighty feat.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be nice." Scott managed to splutter out, knocked off balance by this calm beginning.

"Well, let's go to the medlab, then. No sense in wasting time, right?" Hank led the small procession to the elevator and then down to the lower levels.

Though his open and warm manner had settled Scott's racing heart, the nausea that was building in his stomach born of panic simply wouldn't go away. He felt reduced to a small child, pretending to be mature enough to sit at the grown-up table, but still scared of the adults that sat there and the confusing game known as courtesy and politics. He was entirely out of his league here. How could Hank be so calm? Why was he distracting him with talk of getting him a new pair of glasses? Were they planning to trap him in the medlab and force him into sobriety? Were they actually getting him new glasses? The first answer seemed more likely. Since "brevity is the soul of wit" I will be brief: Scott Summers was utterly confused.

Hank began to bustle about the medlab, opening up the bag Ororo had left there for him. He placed it on the stainless steel countertop, revealing the contents. There were several kinds of frames along with several pairs of lenses for each. It seemed that Hank had found ten fashionable frames, and estimated what his prescription would be by now. Scott had always had a slow-to-change eye prescription, but had been very lucky that his visor lens changed curvatures to fit his eyes. Within ten minutes, Hank had found the perfect match of lenses for Scott, and the latter selected an aviator-style frame.

"Hank." Scott called to get the other man's attention, feeling exhaustion creep underneath his skin, as though his instincts were telling him there was an intruder nearby. There was still the underlying urge to vomit, and he was sure he would be doing so the moment he left the medlab, and his hands just couldn't stop shaking, but the worst of his withdrawals was that he was just _tired_, and not just physically either. His heart was exhausted of such high anxiety and then the most invasive depression one could possibly imagine, of going to the highest highs when he realized that he would be clean, and then to the lowest low as he realized the same.

"Yes?" The blue man looked up from sliding the lenses into place. Scott took that moment to marvel at the man's genius; he put all other doctors of any type to shame with his brilliance.

"Why you're…here…I, uh…"

Charles suddenly spoke up. He had been silent the entire time they had been in the medlab. "We don't have to begin the official detoxification immediately. Hank came as soon as he could so you might become accustomed to his presence, and then you get to choose when we begin."

Hank nodded, handing the glasses to Scott. "Try these on."

Scott sighed, accepting the professor's explanation for the moment. He screwed his eyes shut and pulled his old pair of sunglasses off. He slid the new pair on, sliding his fingers over the frame to make sure it was covering all of his eyes. He then opened his eyes and glanced into a nearby mirror. "Looks good." He commented.

"Good." Hank smiled at him, but Scott did not smile back. He was far too concerned with keeping himself from shaking. He hated the shaking the most, besides the depression. The only time he could remember shaking was when he'd been dreadfully cold, like the time Bobby and John had locked him out of the mansion on Christmas Eve. Jean had let him in when he hadn't come to bed, but he remembered the amount of work the two had been assigned to do with sadistic glee.

"Scott, are you feeling well?" Charles asked, wheeling himself over to Scott and placing a hand on his arm.

"I think I need to sit down." He muttered, walking over to one of the patient tables and hopping up onto it. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. He was suddenly so tired, once again; possibly overwhelmed by the excessive exercise he'd done after he'd thrown up several times. He hated himself for his own weakness. Yes, he expected these symptoms, but he also expected himself to be strong enough to overcome them. He was Scott Summers, not someone who got weighed down by withdrawal symptoms. He ground his teeth, forcing himself to not explode on Hank or the professor.

"Would you like to return to your room? Perhaps we can pick this up tomorrow." Hank suggested, and Scott could have hugged him.

"Yes, thank you." He stood up, moving over to the door. "Thank you, Hank, for coming."

"My pleasure, Scott." Hank nodded to his new patient, and then turned away, getting acquainted with the space he would be using for the next several months. Some drug rehabilitation programs had hospitalization periods of only twenty-eight days to a solid thirty, but Charles had asked him to stay for as long as possible, in case of any relapses, or Scott needed someone else to just be with or talk to. The two of them were old friends, and that might bring a sense of comfort and familiarity that Charles or Ororo couldn't provide. Xavier seemed to think of everything.

Scott said farewell to the professor on the main floor, as it was nearing lunchtime and Xavier's physics students often came looking for him at that time for extra help.

Scott headed up the stairs once more, his feet nearly dragging on the floor. His limbs felt heavy and he was torn between the desire to sleep and the need to find some form of drug to abuse. He felt completely unstable and unbalanced without something unnatural surging through his blood. There seemed to be a hole gnawing at his stomach, and he felt so… _empty._ He was depressed; that was obvious. He'd experienced the highest high he'd ever imagined possible from drugs, and everything else seemed to pale in comparison. Nothing could engage him in such a way cocaine had. Nothing could give him a reason to live.

It wasn't that he was about to off himself. He didn't have the guts, and for once, he would be okay with being gutless. He wanted to have steel-like determination to turn the mess he'd created around. Cocaine had been killing him, though nothing had ever made him feel more alive. He didn't remember how to live.

Well, he'd just have to learn, wouldn't he? He owed Charles, Ororo, Hank and all his students too much to let them down because he couldn't or wouldn't learn how to cope. He had to make it through. He would be clean because he wanted to contribute something to the mansion. Even at the lowest point in his life, when he only needed a home, Charles had given him a chance at new life. He wasn't going to mess this up.

Scott stumbled into his room, closing the door behind him. The not-messing-up would have to come tomorrow. He was exhausted and needed sleep. Fighting drugs and struggling to become clean were troubles for the next day. Right now, his only dilemma was whether to get undressed into more comfortable clothes or to go straight to sleep. In the end, he collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes, asleep within minutes.


	4. Memories of a Terrible Kind

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Don't rub it in. And the proposal bit sort of isn't mine… I borrowed the general idea and the, "Pulling out the heavy artillery?" line from an Avatar fic. I believe it's "Brotherly Love". **

Scott brushed his teeth furiously, glaring at his reflection. It wasn't the most intimidating scowl he'd ever seen. The foamy toothpaste that lined his lips might have caused the lack of fear factor, but he didn't care. He was so sick of vomiting every few hours and being exhausted by unable to sleep and of the shaking. He was worn down by the constant angry outbursts; he hated himself for yelling at Ororo. She never deserved it. She was doing all she could, when she had the time, to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. He was going to have to buy her flowers when he formally apologized for how difficult he was being, when this was all over.

He spat out the toothpaste, carefully measuring out a portion of his mouthwash and rinsed his mouth. He rummaged through the small drawer and pulled out a plain black comb. He dragged it through his hair, completing his presentable appearance. There was no real reason for him to be putting so much into what he looked like. It wasn't like he did anything during the day. It was making him go mad, that's what it was doing. It was driving him crazy, and he planned on doing something worthwhile today. He was going to go back into the room he'd shared with Jean and go through their things. Maybe if he got some closure, it would be easier to proceed with his life. What better way to come to terms with her death than to go through their things and get rid of anything he didn't need anymore? 

Frankly, the idea scared him. It wasn't his place to touch his beloved's things, and it wasn't as though he could get RID of her clothes and personal belongings! His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to jump out through his ribs. He leaned against the counter, staring at the mirror. He didn't know what to do. His life had been filled with purpose, and he simply would not stand for stewing in his agony for another day. He would never stop missing Jean. She was his heart and his life. But it was time to let go. She had made her choice, and it had saved his life. He couldn't waste that second chance she'd given him.

It had been two days since Hank had arrived, and several changes were already taking place. Hank had put him on a semi-strict diet, rich in amino acids, salts and oligoelements that were essential to neural recovery. Scott didn't understand half of what Dr. McCoy had explained to him, simply because it went off into medical and scientific jargon and seemed like a completely different language. What he had been able to understand was that this diet would help his body naturally heal from the constant drug use and perhaps repair some brain damage. He was constantly disappointed; he knew from some old research he'd done that usually, oral and intravenous drugs would be administered, but the idea of those had been tossed out of the window, considering how easily addicted he could become. He felt like a child being told no, but had fought the urge to throw a tantrum.

However, he was trying to view things in a more positive manner. His physical symptoms were decreasing steadily as time passed. He was not being given drugs, even when he wanted them, which was boosting his ability to abstain from drugs. He was in a loving, warm atmosphere, surrounded by people he loved and who loved him. He was back home, and his family was going to take care of him. He didn't have to carry himself through the night anymore. There were others who were stronger to do that job for him until he could stand on his feet again. He didn't have to fix the world, and no one expected anything from him. All he had to do was work on himself.

He still wanted cocaine, though. That hadn't changed. The craving was still on the edge of his mind at all hours, taunting and tempting him. It wouldn't be hard. He knew where the keys to all of the cars were. The roads in the general area were still familiar to him. He knew what a crackhouse looked like when he saw one. It would be so easy.

He rubbed his face as he left the bathroom. He changed into a clean pair of black sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. He looked around the bedroom and sighed, wondering if there was anything he could do to put this off. There was nothing. He had to do this today.

He closed the door behind him as he entered the hallway. He began at a strolling pace, forcing himself to remain calm and not let his panic overrule his senses. He knew that if he budged, even the slightest bit, all of his control would fly out of the window. He knew if he let his panic manipulate his thoughts and actions, he would find the closest means of transportation and find the closest drugs. He had to keep control of himself. He would not let anything else take control.

It was a relatively short walk to his old room. The door sat on its hinges, innocently enough. It wasn't that hard to open the door, because he could pretend it was any old door, and the contents meant nothing to him. It was when he took that first step did _everything_ rush back to him. Every kiss they'd shared, every intimate moment, every whispered conversation of past pain suddenly came back to his mind and he could remember without fear of the pain ripping his heart apart. He took several more steps, reaching the middle of the room.

The suite smelled of age and of dust that had settled on the furniture. The dust was in several layers and seemed to cover everything. Hesitantly, Scott moved his lead legs and shuffled over to the bedside table, the side he'd occupied for only one cold night without Jean. He picked up the single frame that rested on the mahogany surface. The picture was obscured by seven years of dust, but tears began to trickle down his face.

Trembling fingers reached up to wipe the dust away, to reveal a young couple. The young man was laying flat on his back on a lawn of the greenest grass in the summer time. The young woman was curled up at his side, looking up at his face as a smile danced across her face. The young man had an arm around the beautiful woman and was laughing. Red sunglasses were perched on his nose, but they were not a mark of shame, as they had become. It was a picture of the past, when turmoil raged all around them like a hurricane, but when the couple was together, nothing seemed as frightening or painful. It was a picture of a time when flirtations would come and go, and both parties would indulge to some degree, but they would always come back to the other. Their minds and bodies might have strayed, treating themselves to a lustful thought or flirtatious touch of the hand, but their hearts were bound by a connection that couldn't be broken by anyone.

Scott sat down on the bed, his legs unable to support him. Tears continued to slide down his cheeks of their own volition. The warmth of the salty drops warmed his face momentarily, but tumbled down his chin onto his neck, chilling him. He stared down at the picture, the two figures blurred by his tears. He put it down on the bedside table. Face down.

He forgot about his momentary physical weakness and pushed himself to his feet. He tore into the adjacent bathroom, pulling a plastic garbage bag from underneath the sink and faced his task. He had to throw away anything that was not necessary to keep. He stared at his reflection. He couldn't do this. He simply couldn't. It was dishonoring Jean's memory. Wiping her from this room would be accepting that she was actually _gone_. But she couldn't be gone! She would come back to him, wouldn't she? She was only gone for a little bit. She'd come back. She had to. He couldn't survive without her. He couldn't beat drugs without her. He'd known all along that taking a breath without her was nigh impossible.

The only problem… she was gone. She was dead. She'd sacrificed herself to save him. He'd tried to save her, but she had made her choice. She had given him and the others another chance. They could have another day to live and another day to plan to take on all evil present in the world. She had left him, willingly. The thought made his throat close up as he attempted to sob. He couldn't sob pathetically or throw himself onto the ground and bawl. He could only allow the tears to slip down his face and soak the collar of his shirt.

He let the plastic garbage bag drop as he mechanically walked back into the bedroom, letting his eyes soak up the entire room.

Nothing had been touched. Every picture frame was exactly where it had been. The jacket he'd dropped on the window seat was still there, and it was likely to be permanently creased. The shelves of medical and mathematical texts, and a plethora of their favorite fiction novels were undisturbed. If the dust was removed and the blankets on the bed cleaned, he wouldn't be able to tell that any time had passed at all. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything, as if removing something from the room would diminish the fact that their love had been very real.

"I thought you might be here, Scott."

Scott turned to look at Ororo, strangely calm. He had become much more erratic during the withdrawal period, but he wasn't disturbed by her appearance. He had always known that Jean wasn't entirely his, as much as he wasn't entirely hers. They both had friends, some separate, some the same. The most secret parts of Jean Grey had always been his, but she was a loving person by nature. She accepted many people into her life, and Ororo had been the most prominent of friends. They had been through countless events together, and had celebrated, cried and laughed together. Scott couldn't comprehend the depth of their friendship, and felt selfish for grieving so deeply when Ororo had probably lost more than he had.

He crossed the room quickly to stand in front of Ororo. After his purposeful steps, he was unsure of what to do. He reached up to cradle his head in his hands. The tears just wouldn't stop, as if trying to erase seven years of aging from his face. It was as if his grief had reached so deeply that his tears thought they could turn back time by trying to clean seven years of pain from his skin.

"Scott, you don't have to do this now. It can wait." Ororo placed her hands on his elbows. "Don't torture yourself by being here."

"I…" Scott's voice cracked as he attempted to continue his sentence. He swallowed and continued. "I have to do this. I have to… I don't even know what I have to do, but this room just can't sit here anymore."

Ororo sighed, and he could hear the acceptance in her aura, for lack of a better term. He could feel the shift in her emotion and intent. She drew his hands away from his head and held them gently in her own.

"I can help you, if you want to clean away Jean's things." She tightened her hold on his hands. "But you have to let me help you."

Scott looked up at her, observing her face. She was calm and collected, as always. She had had seven years to mourn her friend, and had come to a place where she could celebrate the amazing life she had seen blossom before her. Scott had had seven years to let the wound fester and become infected from self-hatred and questions of what might have been if he had done something differently. Together, they faced the task of going through Jean Grey's worldly possessions.

"Okay." He agreed with a nod.

Ororo smiled slightly at his agreement. "Good. Then let's start with the easy things." She let his hands drop to his side and then walked to the bathroom.

Scott followed her, and together, they cleaned out the bathroom, tossing empty beauty product bottles into the bag. In went Jean's make-up and her hairbrush. Ororo was right; these were the easy things. He didn't have any emotional connection to these items. They were just items to him. It even felt refreshing to clean out the bathroom and tidy it up, though no one would ever likely live in that room again.

Together, Ororo and Scott cleared out all of the drawers around and beneath the sink wordlessly. It had only taken minutes, but the bathroom was completely cleared. It was as though no one had ever lived there. The thought struck Scott with frightening clarity and he fought off the emotion.

"Scott, what's wrong?" Ororo asked, seeing the telltale signs of his grief; his clenched jaw, his furrowed brow and his slightly narrowed eyes.

"It's all… cleared out." He stared at the bathroom. "It's like she was never here."

"But she was, Scott, and we know that. She will always live on in our hearts, but she doesn't live in her possessions. You know she was so much more than that." Ororo reminded him softly, taking hold of his elbow. "Come on, let's start on the bedroom."

Scott didn't reply. He turned to face the bedroom, and all of the things he would have to get rid of. From somewhere, Ororo produced several cardboard boxes. He blinked; of course they would have kept some cardboard boxes in here, waiting for his return. They wouldn't have touched anything if he wasn't there, and a person needed boxes to clear out the room of someone who had died. It was all so surreal to him.

Again, they got to work cleaning the bedroom out. Scott started on the bookcases, scanning all of the texts. He had three boxes; a keep box, a maybe box and a get-rid-of box. He started at the top. There were several books on hemagglutinin and hemangioma and the appendix. His fingers touched their spines and reality came back to him. It was no gradual process of returning, but there was no crashing sensation. It simply donned on him that these were Jean's books and there was no reason to keep them. The only thing that brought him peace about the idea of getting rid of her things was that she would have needed to replace them anyway. Without another thought to it, Scott began lifting the heavy tomes from the shelves into the get-rid-of box. When that was filled, he converted both the maybe and keep boxes into get-rid-of boxes.

The bookshelves cleared out, he turned to the closet. Tears stung his eyes, but they did not fall. Similarly, his emotions welled up in his heart, but they didn't overflow. There were no words to describe how much it hurt him to look at all of Jean's clothes again. He could see her in everything, even that blouse he'd bought for her one Christmas. He knew she didn't like it, but she'd worn it anyway because he'd taken the time to find and buy it for her. He loved that about her. She had her emotional moments where she acted like a teenage girl, but when he really needed her to be selfless, she always came through and made him feel like the best boyfriend in the world.

Boyfriend. He **hated** that world. He'd been her boyfriend. He'd been her fiancé. But he'd never been her husband, and that was what made him want to scream. He wordlessly accepted two more boxes from Ororo who was packing away all of the photo albums and picture frames that were scattered throughout the room. He began to carefully fold every piece of clothing and place it gently into the box. He did his best to make sure there were no creases, as if a wrinkle on her clothes would put a wrinkle in her memory.

Ororo soon joined him and began to assist him, starting at the other end of the wall where Jean's clothes were hung. She folded the clothing just as carefully, but he could feel her watching him, even though his eyes were glued to the shirt or skirt or pair of pants that was in his hand. He knew she was worried and waiting for him to break down. The only problem was that he couldn't. He had to finish this.

Scott froze when he pulled a very familiar shirt off of its hanger. He stared down at it, feeling the texture of the cloth beneath his fingers. He traced the curve of the neckline and could see it scooping down to at the sweet spot above her breasts. The neckline dipped just enough to promise something amazing, but not far enough to give a free show. She had projected an image of her wearing this particular shirt into his mind and he could see how it complimented her delicious curves and clung in all of the right spots.

The shirt itself was black in color, with reflective rhinestones decorating the cloth from where it would hug underneath the right breast diagonally down to the left corner. The sleeves were elbow-length, but were completely loose. He ran his hand across the smooth cloth. This was his favorite of every top she ever owned, simply because she'd worn it the night he had proposed to her.

_He had everything planned. Conditions were perfect; neither one of them were working late, due to essays or projects they had to grade. All of her research was done (he'd even helped her). Their suite was immaculately clean (oh yes, that had been him), and all of the children had been tired out from the romp in the snow, except for Bobby and John, but he'd paid both of them twenty dollars if they stayed in their room and kept quiet. Fortunately, both boys liked money and preferred to keep their heads on their necks, so they did as bribed._

_Scott and Jean retired to their room, the mood relaxed. She was slightly tired from trying to keep all of the kids in line, even though there was snow outside. It really was a lost cause. He'd have to remind her the next time the professor asked if she would be available to watch the children for several hours while he and most of the other teachers were out. Those thoughts aside, he had kept one hand in his right pocket the entire night, and Jean had noticed._

"_What have you got there, Scott?" She asked, looking up from the book she was currently reading._

_Perfect. "I'm not telling you." He grinned at her, flopping onto the bed childishly. _

"_And why not?" Jean placed the book down, to face him._

"_Because it's a secret." He whispered, his eyes glinting mischievously. _

"_Tell me!" She urged him, giggling from her boyfriend's rare antics._

"_I don't want to." He replied, a smug smirk on his smooth face._

"_But you have to." She answered without missing a beat._

"_And why would that be?" He asked her, an eyebrow arched._

"_Because if you don't, then you'll never get to sleep with me again."_

_Scott chuckled. "Pulling out the heavy artillery, are we?"_

"_You know it. So tell me!" She insisted, moving over onto the bed. _

"_Just remember, you made me." Jean rolled her eyes, a grin on her face._

_Scott stood up and moved over to where she sat on the other side of the bed. She looked up at him, confused. He slowly knelt down, withdrawing a small box from his pocket. He swallowed, anxious. He looked up at her face as he opened the box. _

"_Jean Grey, will you marry me?" _

Two tears slid down his face and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He smiled at the memory, and then placed the carefully and immaculately folded shirt into the box. Jean Grey had been one beautiful chapter in the story of his life, but that chapter had ended in tragedy. His life was still being written, but she was no longer an active part of it. He would always think back to her. He would never forget her. She, and her death, had been instrumental in forming who he was, and who he would be. He loved her, and he would never stop loving her simply because she was gone. But now, he needed to move on.

"What are you thinking?" Ororo asked him, breaking through his thoughts.

"When I asked her to marry me…" His smile was grim and somehow mournful. "And how she's really, actually gone. She's not coming back." He chuckled dryly. "It's now just hitting me. I'm glad we're doing this. Thank you." He gave her a genuine smile. It was a small one, but still sincere.

"Of course, Scott." Ororo gave him a friendly touch on the shoulder. "All of her clothes are packed. I'll leave you to see if any of your old clothes still fit, and if you want any of them. Okay?"

"Okay." He nodded, and watched her leave. Scott turned to his clothes. He looked through them, holding a few prospective keepers up to his chest.

In the end, he put all except a few plain t-shirts and three pairs of jeans with Jean's clothing. He couldn't keep them. All of his old clothes… they were a teacher's clothes, representing a life he had left behind. Even if he began teaching again, once he had a couple years of sobriety underneath his belt, his life would never be what it was. It simply couldn't. He was a different person now. He had different goals and different motivations. He could never go back. It was a hard reality, but one that was true. He could never go back to what he used to be. That Scott was dead. All that was left was… he didn't know.


	5. Chemical Reactions

**Disclaimer: This is an AU fic, but as it goes, I still do not own Scott and the rest of the X-Men. **

Scott Summers would be the last person to say that sausage and eggs wasn't a great breakfast. He also liked bacon and eggs. It was great that meat was high in amino acids, which were very good for the brain, and the same went for eggs. He wasn't in the habit of thinking about eating healthy anymore, so when he was presented with a carefully constructed three-bean salad with sausage and egg **particles** festooned across the iceberg and romaine lettuce, and tofu drenched in what was supposed to taste like teriyaki sauce, he wasn't exactly the happiest person in the mansion.

He had spent the last day, holed up in his room. He hadn't cried; he'd merely lain there, wondering what was going to happen. Between the bouts of vomiting and the spots of time where his joints had seemed to be frozen and he couldn't move, he had thought about his life and what torturous existence he would suffer through without drugs. His body was crying out for relief, and the only blessing (if he could call it that) was that he couldn't move enough to give his broken body what it wanted. Cocaine was his seductress, and it had made him its pathetic whore.

He didn't understand why he had to give up crack. It wasn't like it had ever really hurt him, had it? It was being without it that was seriously hurting him. He had taken his temperature the night before when he was in the bathroom, curled up on the floor, unable to crawl back into bed, and it was at one-hundred-and-three degrees. He felt cold for the rest of the night, shivering to accompany his shaking, but that phase had passed. He was now feeling extremely warm, and was down to basketball shorts and a thin, white tanktop he often wore underneath light colored button-down shirts. If the stress of having a fever wasn't enough, he was almost completely unable to move because his muscles were sore and his joint pain was suggesting that there wasn't any lubricant in his joints. Oh, and there was the vomiting. His favorite part.

Scott growled as he attempted to kick the blankets off of his body, but was, as of the present moment, having no luck whatsoever. His legs didn't seem to want to move, and it was agonizing. He would lift his leg, but his hamstrings and quads simply not allow him more than several inches off of the mattress, not to mention the non-cooperating nature of his knees to bend. His hips and torso felt like he was in a full-body cast, and he could barely move. In essence, he was left to burn underneath the thick, suffocating layer of cotton.

"Getoffgetoffgetoffgetoff!" He muttered, glaring at the blanket he was stuck underneath.

If he was truly honest with himself, Scott knew he was absolutely miserable, and not just from being too warm. He felt so sick and disgusting after throwing up so much, and he couldn't stop shaking. He could hardly walk anymore, when he just wanted to get up and do something. When he wasn't so concerned with not soiling any linens with his vomit, he wished he could do something other than be sick and at the whim of anyone who wanted to come and help him. Yes, whenever someone walked in who wasn't welcome, which was pretty much everyone, he took perverse pleasure in acting out his frustrations with terrible, fearsome, angry rants which usually ended in the person calmly walking out, clearly not going to deal with his crap anymore. He would sulk for an hour or so, at the end of which he would yearn for their company. It was a terrible cycle.

He jumped when a knock came at the door, and he wanted to scream at whoever was behind it. How dare they break the fragile "peace" that came with being alone in a room? Except he hated being alone, his pathetic side reminded him. Being alone meant being helpless, and when he was helpless, he had to be dependant on other people. That meant they could easily forget him, or choose not to come to his aid, should he need help. He didn't like asking for help, and lately, he had been outright refusing any attempts from anyone to help him, but if he thought about it, he was so grateful that no one ever stopped trying. But that didn't mean he still wasn't angry at whoever knocked at the door.

"Go to hell!" He shouted. Translation: Come right in.

"Good morning, Scott!" Hank McCoy greeted jovially as he entered the room, obviously not put off at all by Scott's anger. Hank was, after all, a doctor, and during his residency had become very familiar with furious drug addicts. He had a special ability, being a medical doctor. He could be the most comforting being in the world, while also distancing himself for the sake of the patient. The moment he allowed his emotions to guide his judgment in diagnosing or treating a patient, he was doing them a disservice and was ultimately hurting their chances of surviving. "How would you feel about coming down to the medlab today and going over what treatments we have in store for you?"

"Oh, goody." Scott commented while rolling his eyes. "Fine." He made to push himself up into a sitting position so he could sit up, but made it six inches before giving up. "I can't do it." He muttered, his eyes averted. He couldn't look at Hank while admitting his weakness and expect to be treated like a man, could he?

"Well then, I'll do it for you." Hank's voice was uncommonly soft and caring as he walked over quietly.

"What the fuck?" Scott yelped, doing his best to push himself away. "There's no way in hell you're carrying me!" His voice quickly turned sarcastic. "I understand what you're trying to do for me, you know, 'helping me' and everything, and I totally appreciate it…" He trailed off, his drawl deliciously cruel. "But I'm not a fucking pansy, and I can do this myself."

Hank took a polite step back and gestured for Scott to get up. Scott narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth together. Fatigue had seeped into his very bones, which was a wonderful addition to his muscles doing some crazy stuff to torture him. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position, letting out nearly inaudible whimpers of pain. He quickly leaned his back against the headboard, drenched in sweat from his fever and the effort it took to merely sit up. He glanced at Hank, his heart racing. He quickly looked away, hoping Hank hadn't seen his gaze. It was hard to swallow because he felt Hank's eyes burn into him, as if he was some sort of criminal and had to get up or he'd get beaten for his inadequacy.

"I'm getting up!" His voice was nearly a squeak as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I can do this, okay?!" He was nearly breathless, and if he didn't get any relief, he would be biting through his lip. Whatever mental strength he had that was forcing him to get through the physical pain left him and he slumped down. "I can't do this, Hank, you're going to have to help me." His voice was soft, as opposed to his harsh, biting tone merely moments before.

Hank didn't reply as he gently took Scott up into his arms, doing his best not to force the man to move his limbs. Judging by the heat that seemed to emanate from his skin, it was obvious to any doctor worth his degree that he was suffering from a fever, and would definitely need to be attached to an IV to keep him hydrated since he would be throwing up anything Hank could get him to drink. Hank McCoy's medical mind was racing with all of the things he needed to accomplish to ensure Scott had every chance modern technology could provide him with to beat his addiction.

Hank walked through the empty hallways with Scott in his arms, neither saying a word. Hank knew Scott was already suffering from a low blow to his ego for having to accept the fact he needed to be carried. Scott's pride was aching too much to manage even polite conversation. The walk was silent down to the pristine medbay, both lost in their thoughts.

Hank immediately got to work after setting Scott down on one of the medical tables. "I'll be with you in a quick moment, Scott, after I gather up some things, alright?"

"Fine." Scott muttered, sulking already about having to be carried. Sure, sure, he was too **weak** to walk on his own, so he had to accept help. He knew he was in a lot of pain. He was the one experiencing the pain, but that didn't mean he couldn't walk. It would have taken a long time, but he could have done it. He let out a huff. He hated being without drugs.

Oh, the very thought of injecting cocaine into his bloodstream, or send it into his lungs sent him into euphoric heaven. All of his physical pain would end, and all of this pain from Jean's death and beginning to accept her as gone would be easier to manage. It wasn't like he would die from it. It happened, yes, he accepted that. There was a risk that he would overdose, but he wasn't stupid. He knew his limits, and knew when to stop. Over the years, he did need more of the drug to get that same high, but he wouldn't ever take too much and then die. Death by drug overdose wasn't the way he was going to go. He was willing to risk that death, however, if it meant he would get to escape from this pain, even for a while.

He was broken from his peaceful thoughts when his muscles began to spasm. He randomly jerked quickly, and fell from the table, hitting his head on the nearest machine that a doctor and patient could view X-rays on. He cried out, but any words were muffled as his stomach turned and he threw up his breakfast across the floor. He pushed himself away from his vomit, bitter tears sliding down his cheeks.

He attempted to curl up and block out the world, but his back demanded that he lay completely straight, so he could only submit to his body's demands. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make all of his misery and agony and his humiliation as Hank quickly cleaned up the mess he had made. He felt two strong hands, Hank's massive hands, lift him up and place him back onto the medical table.

"Do you feel any better?" Hank asked, a chart in hand as he surveyed the pale, grim patient in front of him.

"Hell no." Scott snapped. "I just threw up and hit my head, how do you think I'm feeling?!"

"I'll take that as a definitive no." Hank lightly commented, marking down something on the chart which was clearly labeled _Scott Summers_. "Now, your symptoms have gotten worse, correct?"

"Correct." Scott mocked.

Hank's eyebrow arched in slight amusement, but he continued on. "They will only get worse. You will continue throwing up, and it's likely you'll be confined to your bed. Your anxiety is going to go through the roof, and as I'm sure you're aware, you have a fever. That is probably the easiest thing to treat. I'll keep you on an IV here to keep you hydrated. But you will be up most nights because of the vomiting, and even crying." He added lightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Okay… wait, what the fuck? Crying?" Scott started, alarmed at the very idea. That was a low blow to any dignity he had left, which was very little.

"I'm sorry," Hank paused, searching for the words. "Ah… punching the wall all manly like." He smirked as Scott glared.

"Anyway, moving on,"

Scott nodded, glancing around at the sterile environment. It certainly didn't look comforting, but after he'd had sex with his fiancée on the very table he was sitting on (it had been his idea) and now that she was gone, nothing seemed as wonderful or bright. The very thought of Jean… he couldn't even express how much it hurt him to think of her. He had promised to love her until his dying day, but he had never thought that he would love her memory. It was choking him, suffocating him until he was blue in the face. Being without her was worse than being without cocaine, and he didn't even have such a pathetic substitute to help him survive through one day.

"Okay." He nodded, trying to remember why he had decided to get clean. He wondered if this was even for him. He didn't want to be clean. Drugs were his safety net, and being without them meant being vulnerable. It was harder to hurt someone when they were in a haze of drugs. He had been immune to pain. Now, all he felt was pain. Karma was a cruel mistress to dance with in life.

"How about we just roll you over to the scan machine so we can see what's all in need of repair?" Hank suggested with a friendly smile, manipulating the mobile table so it was directly underneath the expensive scanning machine the professor had had manufactured for the institute. He moved over to the controls, pressing a few buttons in sequence.

Scott laid still as the machine looked through every part of his body, taking several pictures from every angle of each bone, limb and important piece of tissue and cartilage. He waited patiently for the scan to be over. He closed his eyes, taking in several deep breaths.

"All finished." Hank called out cheerily, rolling the table back to its original position. The blue-furred mutant pressed a small black button underneath the screens that surrounded Scott's table and waited for the photographs to appear. "Okay, see right here?" Hank gestured towards one particular picture of Scott's nose. "Your nasal septum, the cartilage between your nostrils, has deteriorated from constantly snorting cocaine. We're going to need to repair it with XSkin, something I've just come up with. I will line the inside of your nose with it, and within a month, which is the normal recovery time after a septoplasty, it will be almost exactly like your own skin."

Scott couldn't help the edges of his mouth curving up into a smile at Hank's excitement over his own discovery. "So, is it going to be…?"

"Painful? Not really. I will apply general anesthesia and cut away any dead or decaying cartilage and secure XSkin over the affected area. Gauze will go over, and you'll need to rest for a day, and not do much for a week, but after a month, it will all be over." Hank smiled, though it faded after a moment. "And, my friend, you have asthma." He used a finger to point out some signs of abnormal irritation in the tubes that connected Scott's esophagus to his lungs. "I'll be right back."

Scott ran a hand through his hair, grunting as his elbows found it hard to bend. Asthma? Yet another weakness he would have to deal with. How could he have been so stupid as to get high even for the first time? He was only going to destroy himself! Now, it would be harder to get through another day, let alone do the things he loved, like riding his bike, exercising, and working in the garage, if he ever got through this physical pain. He missed his old life. He missed teaching. It was impossible to explain how the light that went on in his students' eyes when they finally understood a difficult concept made him glow.

Hank came back moments later with two inhalers in hand, one orange and one white one. "Okay, this is relatively simple. In the morning and evening, you take three breaths of the orange inhaler, holding your breath for ten seconds after each one. This is a medicine called Flovent. It's to help prevent any attacks. The white one is to use when you have an attack. Three puffs as well." He explained, handing the inhalers to Scott, who looked rather confused.

"So… I have asthma?" Scott wondered aloud. Hank nodded, affirming this statement. "And I'm going to have some surgery to fix my nose?" He asked, turning his eyes to his doctor. Hank nodded once more.

For a split second, Scott's world seemed to freeze. The love of his life was dead. He had always thought they would grow old together, have a family, and help heal the world. He had often dreamt about what their kids would look like, and how Jean would be as a mother. He couldn't picture her as anything less than perfect. He was addicted to cocaine, and was now trying to kick that habit. The only thing that had ever brought him any relief from the exhausting pain of getting up in the morning… he was leaving that behind. He was in immense physical pain, and his anxiety had blown through the roof. He wondered if he even really needed the surgery. Hank was probably just trying to hurt him more, as everyone in the world seemed intent on doing. His life was messed up.

"I'm not getting any fucked up surgery! My nose is fine!" Scott pushed himself to his feet, but they gave out. He grabbed hold of the table, but somehow, his hand had grazed his glasses just enough to knock them to the floor. It happened too quickly for him to shut his eyes. The clatter of the frames hitting the floor echoed in his ears.

Nothing happened.

Scott looked up at Hank and saw the most vibrant blue fur he could ever remember seeing. The stainless steel tables glistened and reflected the bright light from the white fluorescent lights. His basketball shorts were black, and the stripes down the sides were really white. Nothing was red anymore. All he could see was full-blown color. The moment froze, and he actually _**saw**_ for the first time in years.

"Hank?" He asked softly, looking around in wonder.

"Yes?" Hank's voice was equally quiet, forming several theories as to why Scott's eye blasts had stopped in his mind.

"Can you help me get outside?"


	6. Students' Story

**Author's Note: I may not have been clear before, but Scott was gone for seven years, but has only been addicted to cocaine for four years.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Scott, or anything else pertaining to X-Men. I don't own Emily Rachery either.**

There isn't anything more comforting than a cup of coffee sipped slowly in the privacy of the teacher's lounge when school was let out for Christmas break. Ororo Munroe was experiencing this comfort and luxury, eyes closed, her mind completely in another world. She wasn't thinking of her lesson plan for the next term, or how she needed to find a present for Logan, or even of how she needed to check up on her plants. She had found it imperative to relax alone whenever she could, and her preferred method of relaxation was a cup of coffee and privacy. "Chilling out", as her students put it, was important unless she wanted to blow up at Scott the next time he yelled at her.

Ororo did love Scott. She considered him one of her closest friends. She wanted to help him in any way she could, but it was so frustrating. She didn't know how to help him because everything she did that she thought would help just got her yelled at. It made her want to simply stop trying to help. There was a lot of incidents in the time Scott had been back when she was inches from yelling back at him and storming out. Sometimes she had to remember what stopped her; Scott forcing himself out of bed when he was in obvious pain, the sight of him hunched over the toilet, pale and haggard. Above all, it was her memories of what he once had been that kept her going. He had been once been a great leader, a light in the dark, hope when all was lost. What he needed at the moment was hope. It would be wrong to deny him that when he had so freely given it at one point.

She sighed, taking another sip of her precious coffee. Seeing as most of the teenage students were already hooked on coffee, it was hard to find any source of caffeine in the school. She was grateful for the cup she managed to find. Well, 'find' is such a technical term. More like she stole it before Bobby realized the pot he'd put on was ready. **He** was the real coffee addict.

What was she going to do, though? She wasn't a doctor, and she wasn't Professor Xavier. How could she help Scott? Something told her he didn't really want to give up drugs. He knew the risks he was taking, but he took them anyway. That was the most frightening part for her. Scott was not and never would be a fool. He knew exactly what he was getting into when he did something. He had known exactly what was going when he started to take drugs. He had allowed himself to get addicted anyway.

Her maternal instincts that were triggered whenever anyone needed help were on overdrive. When she thought of half-starved, pale and gaunt Scott lying helplessly in a bed, she wanted to rush to him and coddle him, just to assure herself that he was okay. Not to mention she had the fiercest urge to shove food down his throat to give him some of the weight he'd lost. He was far too skinny.

She let out a slow breath, her heart sinking into her stomach. She couldn't save him from this, just like she couldn't save him from his grief over Jean. She could only be there to force him to believe he would never be alone in his struggle anymore. But how did she make him believe that? How could she comfort him, but at the same time, push him to fight the hole he'd created for himself? Whenever she attempted to comfort him, he pushed her away loudly. When she tried to push him, he either screamed at her or ignored her sullenly. The only one he seemed to actually listen to seemed to be Logan, and that was because the Wolverine didn't take Scott's crap at all.

Ororo put her empty coffee mug down. She couldn't even think of relaxing anymore with all of these painful and confusing thoughts shooting through her mind. She stood up from the chair she had been sitting on and stretched quickly before leaving the room behind her.

Upon entering the main part of the mansion where most of the children hung out, there was only chaos. Pairs, trios and groups of teenagers sat against the walls of the hallways, talking and chatting loudly, some with earphones in their ears, connected to iPods and other mp3 players, others with eyes glued to their cell phones, texting as though the world was ending. Others were lounging on the couches in the game room, and there appeared to be a "hardcore and totally intense", according to a passing teenage boy, tournament of foosball.

Ororo smiled. No matter how terribly the world treated mutants, teenagers would always be teenagers, and that was why they would survive. Even in the midst of pain, they would always find a way to pass the time and forget about their troubles. They were protected and well loved, and above all, accepted for everything they were. Most were still tormented by past pain. It was rare that a child became a student because their parents loved them and wanted to help them. People were still afraid of mutants, and it made her burn with anger, but when she looked into the faces of her students, all she felt was a desperate need to protect them from the world.

"Ororo!" Came a voice.

The named looked up to see Alyssa Earnest waving her over. Alyssa was one of the few students, upon graduating, who had stayed. She was currently working towards her master's degree in business administration at NYU, but found it was easier to stay at the mansion, rather than move into a dorm away from those she considered her family. She was also teaching Language Arts to the middle school aged kids, having a general flair for it. However, the normally serene young woman looked rather frazzled, and her clothes were drenched, showing a lack of control. Whenever Alyssa was not in control or not focusing on her mutation, water dripped from every pore in her body. This caused Ororo to become concerned.

"What is it, Alyssa?" She asked, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"It's… it's Mr. Summers." Alyssa was one of the few still at the mansion who remembered and had been taught by Scott.

Confusion flashing over her face, Ororo nodded to Alyssa, who was fighting to keep all of her emotions in check. Storm placed motherly hands onto the younger woman's shoulder. Of all of the students taught by Scott Summers, she and her best friend, Emily, had looked up to him the most. Alyssa had idolized him, always wanting to be so in control of herself as he seemed to be. Emily Rachery, Alyssa's closest friend since their school days, had always thought he was one of the greatest teachers in the school. To see their idol in such a diminished state had to be quite the shock for the girls who were barely out of childhood and into adulthood.

"Where's Emily?" Ororo asked, taking her hands from Alyssa's shoulders and place an arm around them.

"She's outside, with him. I-I… Ororo, he's so different. Of course, it's been so many years, but it hurts to see him so… so… broken!" Her brown eyes were filled with tears as she tried to get her head around the fact her favorite teacher was, in fact, a fallen, sinful creature, and had caused hard times to come around him. Something was seriously wrong with Mr. Summers, but she knew it wasn't her place to know.

"I know, Alyssa." The African woman nodded. "I know, it's very frightening and painful. And I also know that you both were very, very close to him. Don't worry for him. He's still Scott Summers. That is very comforting."

Alyssa looked up into the face of Ororo, who had become like a mother to her during her time at the mansion. That was one of the reasons she found it hard to leave. She hadn't run away from home; in fact, her parents had done extensive research to find help, so she wouldn't be persecuted just for being immune to dehydration. But now that she was here, she loved these people like they were her family. Emily was definitely her crazy twin sister; they did everything together. Ororo was the mom, trying to keep everyone in line. Professor Xavier was the grandfather who was delighted in spending all of the money he had to benefit his grandchildren. Scott was many things; he could move between being a father figure to a protective brother to an eccentric uncle, but only when he ate enough ice cream and sugar products.

She had taken his leaving hard, and was so lost in her thoughts and pain and shock at seeing Scott again that she hadn't mentioned to Ororo why she had been freaking out. The reason of her being startled was, of course, seeing her teacher older, more hurt and seemingly unable to use his limbs to their fullest potential, and seeing that teacher without his glasses. Alyssa took deep breaths, trying to regain control over her emotions and over her mutation. She hadn't dripped with water since she was sixteen and had come to the mansion, and it was very annoying. She was just lucky she'd thrown on a sweatshirt over her white t-shirt.

Together, Alyssa and Ororo walked to the porch door and opened it, a blast of winter air slapping their faces. Ororo stepped onto the two-inch layer of snow, turning to the left, spotting Scott on the small bench that was set there. A young woman sat on Scott's left, black-and-white furred ears poking through her hair. Her gaze was firmly set on the footprints she'd made in the snow, unable to meet the concerned and frustrated gaze of her former teacher. Scott was looking down at her. He didn't know how to answer her shock at the change he had made. An expression of disappointment (at himself, most likely) caused him to look several years older than he actually was. The silence was stunned as Ororo placed a hand on his shoulder, and as he looked up to meet her gaze with eyes of calming gray-green.

"Oh, Scott…" Her voice was soft, barely pressing through the silence.

**xxx**

Alyssa and Emily met up in the front foyer, both glad to be without any duties for the Christmas break. Their friendship had survived the death of a beloved teacher and mentor, countless small scuffles over some stupid subject, and even fights over who got the last slice of pizza (Alyssa had always won; it wasn't her fault she could drench her friend with water!). Now that it was nearly Christmas, they were both at the mansion and without anything to do. So, they planned on spending the day outside or inside by the warm fire. The first being Alyssa, of course, because she loved being around anything water. The second being Emily, simply because water was the enemy.

"… Fine. We can go outside for a little bit." Emily conceded finally, scratching behind her own ear idly. "You're so lucky I like you." She stuck her tongue out playfully.

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Alyssa grinned. "But it's pretty cold anyway. So, let's go. It's so pretty outside! Maybe we can get Bobby and a bunch of the kids to start a snowball fight. We need to get Bobby back for the whole frozen load of laundry thing, anyway." Sure, she had easily defrosted their clothes, but that wasn't the point. Emily had freaked out (cat instincts and all), and Alyssa Earnest was the only person allowed to terrorize her feline partner in crime. That was just how the world worked.

"Yeah…" Emily drawled. "That'll be fun." She rolled her eyes, swiping at Alyssa without claws.

Alyssa grinned, tossing an arm across her friend's shoulder as Emily placed hers around Alyssa's waist. They left the foyer, nearly having to dance through the migrating crowds of teenagers. They blissfully remembered their own time as students, doing nothing but pranking each other and having fun. Now, the world was filled with so many more cares. They were both in school and helping out at the mansion, while trying to train more and more in the Danger Room. At least the mansion would always be there.

Emily moved forward as they were in the kitchen, rushing to the nearest cabinet. Alyssa squealed and tried to grab the cat-like mutant, but was too slow. She quickly formed water from the surrounding vapor in the air and froze the cabinet doors shut. She smirked, dragging Emily away from her source of tuna.

"Now, I know your adorable kitty senses get on a high whenever you smell tuna, but we're going outside!" Alyssa joked, throwing the door open and stepping out into the fresh air. She took a deep breath, and then jumped. "Oh, Hank, wow. It's wonderful to…" She trailed off.

"Alyssa, what's wrong?" Emily's voice failed her as her eyes fell on what had made Alyssa speechless.

Hank McCoy had, as of late, surreptitiously taken up residence at the mansion. Most of the students stayed in the main halls, unless they were injured in a Danger Room session or came down with the flu, so it wasn't common knowledge the former politician was back. However, this came as wonderful news. Hank was a favorite amongst the inhabitants of the Xavier institute, due to his charming personality and his inability to go a day without trying to learn everything he could about everyone and everything he came into contact with. He inspired the students to learn, and the teachers to continually make their classes better for the students, who were the future.

But it wasn't the great blue monster that caused all words to fail the two talkative college students. It was the man sitting on the bench being carefully watched by the doctor. The man had dark hair and a familiar build. Even from yards away, Alyssa and Emily would not be able to mistake Scott Summers for anyone else. But his skin was paler, and he looked like a ghost. His jaw was clenched tightly as he tried to ward off physical pain he was experiencing. But it was definitely Scott Summers.

Alyssa tilted her head slightly. "What the…?" She breathed.

Scott wasn't wearing his glasses, but nothing was getting destroyed.

Emily looked at Alyssa, unable to think of what to do. The latter was shocked beyond words and found herself reduced to a child. She had admired Mr. Summers, even as a teenager, she had known he wasn't just some teacher. He had taught her how to defend herself, and to accept the fact her power was a gift, and not a curse. He hadn't been able to see in full color for years, but he seemed content. Emily, however, was confused, the reality of the situation not settling in. She sniffed several times in a row, noticing something… different about Mr. Summers. Most humans smelled the same way, and most mutants smelled differently than humans. But Mr. Summers didn't smell like a typical mutant, as if there was something else in his body chemistry to change the way he smelt to felines.

"I'm… I'm going to go get Ororo." Alyssa made a quick excuse and then ran back inside, trying to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. She couldn't believe her hero was finally back, but he wasn't Mr. Summers, at the same time. For so long, she had wondered where her favorite teacher was, and now he was back. Her emotions were flowing over the brim of her heart, and she wasn't sure what to do with them.

Emily stayed rooted, smiling half-heartedly as Hank took his leave, heading back inside to get a pair of glasses, berating himself mentally for not bringing a pair with them. One could never be sure when brain chemistry would change. Hank McCoy didn't want to risk hurt to Scott, any of the students, or the mansion itself.

Emily's feline instincts were screaming at her. She felt like a cat woken up to only see a foe in front of her. The fur on her ears stood on end as she studied Mr. Summers, who had looked up, attempting to meet her gaze while holding in any reactions that might scare her. Of all of the teachers, Scott had learned the most about Emily's mutation, having worked with her to develop it and learn to defend herself with it, and knew calmness was needed in any situation with a frightened cat.

"Hello, Emily." He greeted her neutrally.

"Hi, Mr. Summers." She responded immediately, taking deep breaths to calm herself. "So… where did you go off to?" She asked, feeling stupid. Considering how he looked, and if what she smelled around him was bad, she probably didn't want to know. But it was an innocent enough question, and no one could blame her for asking. Mr. Summers was her favorite teacher, and she thought he was the best leader the X-Men would ever find. Everyone suffered when he left.

"… Around." He replied vaguely, with a shrug. "How have you been?"

"Good." Emily looked down at her clasped hands in front of her. "Alyssa's teaching English, and I'm teaching beginning science. We're both going to college, too." She answered quietly, not quite sure how to react to seeing Mr. Summers again. She was still so shocked to see him at all. It had been seven years, for heaven's sake! During the first year, she had wondered about how he was doing, what he was up to, and if he was ever going to come back. The first few months had been terribly painful, but she had come to terms that he wasn't going to come back. Yet… here he was.

To be honest, she wanted to start crying. She was so happy to know he was okay, and that he was back, but she wasn't a blind child. She knew there was something irreversibly different about him, and his time away hadn't been spent healing from Dr. Grey's death. She felt bad for him; she'd never dated anyone and didn't know what love was like, but she knew it was painful.

On the other hand, she wanted to be angry at him. He had left them all when they needed him to be a leader. She could understand why he needed to leave. She would have been the first to order him to take a vacation, if she hadn't been sixteen years old. But seven years. It wasn't just the X-Men that needed him. No matter how much anyone complained, every student came away from every class he taught having learned something, whether about life or math.

"That's great." Scott nodded to her. "You've really grown up, Emily." He gave her a quirk of a smile before he clamped his mouth shut, willing the urge to vomit would go away.

Before she had a chance to reply, the back door opened once more to reveal Ororo and Alyssa.

Scott couldn't believe how beautiful the world was. Every color was so vibrant and diverse, and though he had had the gift of sight, he had never truly seen before this day. The snow seemed to glitter with a thousand different hues of white, and the clouds were cheerfully white and fluffy. He couldn't help but look at the world in awe and wonder. Every sense seemed to be at an all-time high. The air seemed even more alive; he would swear that it was crackling with his excitement. He wanted to run out into the snow and see it all. He wanted to roll in the beautiful snow, and climb the awe-inspiring trees as every child did at one point. He had done it when he had been a student, but now… he could see.

He could actually see.

He looked at Emily, a slight smile on his lips, even as they sat in awkwardness. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, and exceeded his standards. He hadn't even seen her for more than a few moments, but she had a soothing aura about her, despite her emotions. She was easy to read, as she always had been. He deserved the fact she wanted to be angry at him, after all. He swallowed, taking that thought in, chewing on it, and putting it away. He accepted it, and decided not to dwell on it when he had one of his former students in front of him. Except he didn't know what to do or say at all.

His heart stopped when Alyssa, another one of his students, appeared again with Ororo. His mouth was dry. Ororo was so breathtakingly beautiful. Scott had always been able to appreciate her looks, and if Jean hadn't appeared in his life and stolen his heart, he knew he would have pursued Ororo until he dropped. Yet, now he could completely see her. The dark hue of her skin clashed deliciously with her white hair, and her dark chocolate eyes stared into his eyes in a moment that froze in time.

Some moments can drag on like torture, tearing a person's entrails apart. Others move too quickly and pass through someone's fingers as they try to linger in that moment. This moment simply stopped, and it was like a dream. Scott could memorize every feature on Ororo's face and how beautiful her African heritage had made her.

"Oh, Scott." Ororo repeated, breaking the eternal moment. "Your eyes…"

"My blasts stopped." He added unnecessarily. "I don't know why, but…"

Ororo reached for his hands and helped him to stand up. Scott took his hands from her grasp and touched her face, staring intently at her, burning the colors into his mind. He grinned and pulled her close in a quick embrace.

"You're pretty." He teased her in his falsetto voice.

"You're seeing in full color, and that's all you can say?" Ororo couldn't help but laugh. Joy bubbled from her heart, overwhelming her.

Scott felt the same rush of happiness, and turned to Alyssa and Emily who were currently standing together. They had matching looks of disbelief on their faces, as if they didn't know how to react. Scott was a much better people-reader than he thought; he was spot on.

He turned to them and, acting on happy impulse, pulled them into a quick hug. "I missed you guys." He told them fondly, smiling down at them. His muscles were screaming in pain, and if he hadn't been so overcome with happiness, he would have collapsed.

Alyssa nodded, biting her bottom lip to force away her emotions. It had been so long, and seeing Mr. Summers again… well, it made her want to go into her room and blubber like a child. She didn't understand her reaction to seeing him again; she had once thought she would have shrieked and given him a fond hug. Now, all she wanted to do was leave, and she couldn't bear the thought of speaking to him. He had left. He had abandoned them, mutant teenagers. Of all people, she had thought Scott would understand a mutant child's fear of being abandoned. The world had abandoned them, and Cyclops and the other X-Men had been there. Were they all so unworthy that even Scott Summers would abandon them in their time of need?

Ororo placed a hand on Scott's shoulder and guided him back to the bench, sitting down beside him. She looked up at the two young women. "Alyssa, Emily… would you like to join us?" She offered, glancing over to Scott. She could tell he was struggling with seeing two former students again. He was realizing how much he'd hurt the people he cared about. He had always known, but he was coming into contact with reality, and it was harsh.


	7. Something of a Beginning

**Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men, and I am not making any money from this fic. I do not own "Always On My Mind" by Elvis Presley, either, which this chapter was heavily inspired by. Yay for all the James Marsden videos on youtube! I do own Alyssa Earnest, but not Emily Rachery.**

Alyssa had slid her arm through Emily's, an unconscious effort to comfort them both by simple contact. She shook her head slightly, watching Emily out of her peripheral vision. Much to her relief, her friend had done the same. She wasn't about to feel guilty that she needed to get away from the situation, but it would be so much easier to do so if she had her best friend, her lifeline, to talk the whole thing out with.

Ororo gave them a soft smile. "Alright. I'll talk to you both later." She told them as they entered the warm mansion again, leaving the two old friends out in the icy beauty of winter.

Scott watched the exchange, overwhelmed by the emotions that were slapping him in the face. Alyssa and Emily… they were an example of what he had done when he had left. In one moment, which snowballed into seven years, of selfishness, he had caused innocent children pain. He hadn't thought of it, really. He had been distracted by his soul-crushing grief. It would have been impossible for him to be selfless in such a situation. However, he let his grief take over, and in doing so, he had done the one thing he had promised himself he would never do: hurt someone who was completely innocent of any crime against him or those he loved. His heart and stomach squirmed within him as this realization donned on him. He closed his eyes, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands.

"Look what I've done, Ororo." He commented brokenly.

"I know." Ororo placed a hand on his back, which was entirely too bony for her likes. He had gotten too skinny. It wouldn't have surprised her if he were at the same weight he had been as a teenager. He wasn't the tallest man alive, and he was naturally slender, but still… she could feel his ribs underneath her fingers, and it disconcerted her. She was worried for him. "They were really hurt when you left. Alyssa and Emily really looked up to you. Emily found someone she could relate to. You can't control your blasts; she can't cover up her ears. Alyssa really wanted to be like you. She admired how much of a leader you were."

"I let them both down." Scott groaned, his hands falling away from his face to stare at the blanket of snow in disbelief. "I let all of the students down. I was so stupid and selfish. All I thought of was what I wanted and what I thought I needed at the moment, and I should have…"

Ororo sighed, catching his attention. He looked up at her face. "Scott, you can't change what you've done. All you can do now is hope to amend the damage you've done. Let's get you inside; you can't worry about that now. Heal your body, and then you can focus on healing your relationships." She reached over and took his hand, giving him a small smile. "You did a great thing when you came back."

"I wasn't even sure I wanted to, at first. I called the Professor when I was on the West Coast in the morning. I needed to… hear his voice. He… he told me he had forgiven me a long time ago." He choked out a laugh. "I couldn't believe it, but a load was taken off of my shoulders, and I felt that maybe… I'd be welcomed back."

Ororo nodded, tightening her grip on his hand slightly. She found herself biting her bottom lip to keep herself from crying. Perhaps she had taken it for granted, but she couldn't imagine ever believing anything else about Xavier; he would always welcome his students back. There was something about his natural benevolence, or perhaps it was a lesson learnt from his travels and extensive studies, but he had the ability to forgive and seek for the betterment of all, no matter the circumstances. Ororo wondered if the man ever did anything out of selfish gain anymore. He was by no means perfect, but he was kind. He was very kind.

"Now I see what I've done, and it's eating me alive, Ororo." He gasped out. "I hurt them. I actually caused them emotional pain. They, who only ever looked up to me and looked to me for strength and stability! I've hurt them. How can I ever make amends for that?" He asked her, his startling gray-green eyes filled with pain for the pain he'd caused his students.

Scott Summers was a man of priority. If asked, anyone could have reported that Scott's priorities ran thus: Jean Grey, his students, and the X-Men. Sometimes, it changed due to his emotions or how focused he was on his classes or a mission, but that was his ideal list of priorities, in that order. When Jean had died, his students should have been his first priority, but his heart was broken. The pain of losing the woman who would have been his wife but two months later threw his stupid priorities out of the window.

Though he was most justified in leaving, he didn't return for seven years. In the grand scheme of things, seven years is a mere blink of the eye, but in the eyes of a young teenager, seven years seemed to be an eternity. He had given them another reason to doubt their worth. Teenagers were very bright. They knew, in their minds, that he had not meant to hurt them with his leaving, but that didn't mean they believed it. He knew what it was like to be a mutant teenager. Being a teen is hectic enough, but when you're an outcast to the world, it just makes things suck even more. To have stability wrested from their grasp once more was traumatic.

Scott had a lot of fixing to do.

"With patience, Scott." She replied quietly, wrapping her arms around her and allowing him to place his head on her shoulder.

"Oh… I'm sorry." Scott mumbled into the fabric of her shirt.

"For what?" She asked, playing dumb. The selfish, angry, unforgiving side of her knew that he had a lot to be sorry for, but because she knew he needed her to be loving and gentle, she kept it in. There would be time for total honesty when he was in his right state of mind. Perhaps she was being unfair to him, maybe some would argue that she should be completely open with him so that both of them could be healed, but he was in enough agony. He would learn of all she had suffered when he had gone, but now was not the time. She had enough wisdom learnt from the Professor that there was a time and place for everything.

Scott pulled away, an eyebrow raised at her. "Like you don't know." He said in an almost accusatory tone. "It's a rare moment when I'm not yelling at someone for trying to help me, and acting like a child! You have done nothing but try to help me, and I give you no thanks for it. I only brush you off with an angry word, and for that, I'm sorry. I understand this must be a strain on you, and I'm trying to be calmer. But sometimes, it just… happens and I have no control over it." He shuddered slightly. He was frightened of being out of control.

Whenever he was not in the driver's seat, it was like he was a kid again, and the plane crashed, leaving him an orphan and without the ability to control the powers that would later manifest. He was always reminded of his time on the street, or the few times when he was in a hospital and he would accidentally blow out a ceiling. Sometimes, he even thought of the time when he and Ororo were looking for Marie, and he'd given the train station a sunroof. It was terrifying not to be able to control something that was apart of him. Now, it was his anger that he had no control over, and it wasn't blowing over walls. It was slowly breaking his best friend's heart.

"Oh, Scott." Ororo gave him a small smile. "It can be… painful, when you get so angry, but I wouldn't stop helping you for anything. It helps to know that you know what you're doing is hurting people, and I know you appreciate it, even though you're stubborn. You and Logan aren't that different, you know." Her dark brown eyes twinkled wickedly.

"Ow." Scott replied, placing a hand over his heart. "Now, that was below the belt."

"Really, Ororo, you'd compare me to this Boy Scout?" Logan asked from the threshold, his arms crossed over his chest. "Cyke, you should be honored to be compared to me."

"To an animal? I don't feel the same way." Scott turned to look at him, smirking at the momentary look of shock that passed over Logan's face. Before he had turned, the Wolverine had only seen his part of his profile and most of the back of his head. Now, his lack of glasses was apparent.

"You know, even without the glasses, you still look like crap." Logan answered firmly, as if stating a solid fact that could not be refuted.

"Wow, that's… special." Scott commented dryly. "Even with the claws, you're not that intimidating." He remarked lightly, tempted to bat his eyelashes mockingly at Logan, but decided against it. He was doing enough damage as it was. It wouldn't be good for his overall health if he woke the sleeping dragon.

Ororo watched the two men bantering back and forth. Any onlooker who didn't know the two personally would assume they were mortal enemies. They might have been, at one time, as they squabbled over Jean. She knew from talking to Logan that he had wanted Jean, but had mostly pursued her and flirted with her to get on Scott's bad side. It had worked, especially when Jean responded. Scott would never have blamed Jean for responding to positive attention. Ororo knew Scott understood that Jean had felt second best at times, due to their heavy working schedules, and the fact Scott had a tendency to put the X-Men before anything else. Scott had tried to amend his ways, towards the end of Jean's life, trying to be more romantic, trying to be a better man, basically trying to win his fiancée back.

However, the two didn't hate each other anymore. Ororo would even be so bold as to assume the two had a fondness for each other. Logan, because of his wolf-like instincts, felt the need to protect Scott. Logan had respected Scott's authority, to a degree, and though he too was an alpha male, he had backed down slightly. Now, he was taking up the mantle of the leader until Scott was well enough to resume his duties, if he ever had the inclination to be an X-Man again. Scott was secretly grateful for everything Logan had done; everything Scott would have and should have done if he had not left. He also felt safe near Logan, because he knew the Wolverine would not let him leave and ruin all the hard work he had done. All of that closeness, however, would always be covered up by a veneer of threats and power struggles.

"Whatever you want to think, Summers." Logan brushed the comment off, taking a spot on the bench opposite to the one Scott and Ororo were seated at. "I can still rip you to shreds."

Scott scoffed, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head, hiding his pain with a simple clench of the jaw. "We'll see about that."

The trio lapsed into a comfortable silence. Hank returned for a moment, to deliver Scott's glasses to him, in case he should feel the familiar burning behind his eyes that would signal the end of his respite from his powers. Scott hung the glasses from the collar of his shirt, secretly hoping that his powers didn't return for a while. He had long since found his identity in who he was to the X-Men; a leader, a strong shoulder in a time of danger, and a protector, and he needed to rediscover who he was. And he also liked seeing all the pretty colors that he still marveled at.

"I think… I think I'm going to go see the garage." Scott muttered as a farewell, and got up and, with some difficulty, walked into the mansion, leaving Ororo and Logan behind.

"I think he's going to be okay." Ororo commented softly with a smile.

"I guess." Logan got up and settled down beside her. "Cold?" He asked, glancing down when he smelt her chilled skin.

"A little." She admitted, and he pulled his leather jacket from his shoulders and gave it to her. Ororo slid her arms into it and settled against the back of the bench. "You two have really bonded, haven't you?" She asked, looking up at Logan.

Logan rolled his eyes. Ororo seemed to have him figured out. Both he and Scott found comfort in their routine of arguing and threatening. It was familiar to them both, and nothing was personal; they both understood that. He liked it when people thought they actually hated each other. It was amusing, in a sadistic way, to see onlookers' shocked faces when they were trading death threats. But Ororo knew better; she knew him and Scott well.

"Yeah." He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders and bringing her close.

Ororo smiled as she leaned against him and placed an arm across his torso. Their relationship had really developed over the years. She had fled to him after Jean died, and they grieved together. They had been inseparable since, teaching classes and leading the X-Men. There had been a lot to do, and the Friends of Humanity were still trying to track them down and put an end to the X-Men. It didn't seem so frightening because Logan always seemed to go out of his way to make sure she was okay, whether to bring her coffee and a scone in the morning or to stay at her side during a battle. She treasured his presence in her life, and knew he thought highly of her as well, simply because he always made a point of telling her that when she was down.

"He needs you, Logan. Thank you for helping him. He means a lot to me." Ororo closed her eyes, trying to keep a hold of herself. Her voice threatened to shake and her throat seemed to be closing up.

"I know, 'Ro." He assured her. "He means a lot to you, and to me, too. He's going to be okay. He's made of stronger stuff." Logan didn't know how to comfort her. He wanted to. He knew she was strong and could take care of herself, but he knew that sometimes, a person shouldn't have to take on the world by themselves. "Are you okay?" He asked her, looking down at her.

Ororo looked up at him and considered the question for a moment. "Yeah, I think so." She responded with a small smile. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"Worried? About the boy scout? Oh, he'll be fine." He gave her a comforting, gentle squeeze. "You should be more worried about Christmas coming up. The kids are going crazy, all trying to get into town to get presents for their friends. Marie's taken charge of the cookie baking, and that husband of hers is just trying to stay out of the way. I'd be more worried about them."

Ororo smiled at his efforts to turn the subject, and silently thanked him. She slid out of his grasp and pulled him up. "Come on, let's go. It's going to snow even more." She looked up at the sky, reaching out with her powers. She could feel the snow building up in the clouds, and smiled. Someone up there was ecstatic to bless all of the children at Xavier's School with a white Christmas, something that didn't come every year, but came often.

"Can't you just ward it off for a while?" Logan asked, not surprised by the feeling of her hands as she pulled him into a standing position. Instead of letting go, however, he kept hold of one of her hands. Their eyes met for an electric moment before she answered.

"I could, but think of how excited the students will be when they wake up and see it's snowing on Christmas morning." She reminded him, slightly timid from their previous eye contact.

Logan groaned. "We'll all be up at four A.M. and the kids will be screaming when they see the stocking stuffers Chuck ordered this year." Gruff as he was, the Wolverine found secret pleasure in the excited children that ran through the hallways on Christmas Eve and morning.

Ororo couldn't wipe the grin from her face, and Logan responded in kind with a smile as they entered the mansion again, hand in hand. Ororo relaxed as she felt the warmth of the mansion, and all they were doing to help people, envelope her. She often forgot how important their work was, as she was buried underneath the stress of teaching and helping run a school. All it took was a visit from Logan and a few gruff words for her to remember. She loved having such a devoted friend, and hoped she provided the same for him.

They were quiet as they walked through the hallways. The atmosphere that surrounded the two friends and comrades was heavy, as if beckoning them to an early sleep or to relaxation. The very walls of the mansion seemed to offer comfort to two warriors that had fought so hard to keep the school safe from mutant haters. But the two friends found comfort in the metronome of their steps and the warmth of their interwoven hands.

Ororo paused in front of the door to her personal room. Logan kept a grip on her hand, though she had turned to enter her room. She looked at him questioningly, but closed her eyes accordingly as he leaned in to kiss her. Their lips melded together for an eternal moment, warmth flooding through both of them. The delicious contact seemed so right, as if a higher power fashioned their lips to fit perfectly together. He slowly pulled away, and without a word, she retreated into her room. He didn't know she had leaned against the door, trying to hold in girlish giggles. She would never know that he had nearly skipped down the hall, especially since he bribed Bobby to forget he had seen anything.


	8. Always On My Mind

**Note: I know that, after their fight scene, Scott and Jean do kiss, but since this is pretty much AU anyway, let's pretend that didn't happen for angst's sake. Oh, and the story where Scott doesn't mail the letters actually happened between Phil and Robin McGraw. That's right, Dr. Phil. He owns.**

**Disclaimer: X-Men doesn't belong to me. Neither does the song "You Were Always on My Mind" by Elvis Presley. Chapter seven and eight were heavily inspired by this song. So, look it up! But download legally. Music pirates aren't cool like real pirates.**

If one didn't know the exact date, it would have been easy to tell by the decorations and music floating through the halls of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. A large pine tree stood proudly in the recreation room, weighed down by glass ornaments and strings of popcorn and ribbons. The top had been crowned proudly by one of the youngest students, and the crown was a large silver star. It was remembered fondly by all of the students and teachers; it had been at the top of every tree that had ever been seen at the mansion.

Scott had been spending most of his time in the medlab because Hank would perform the septoplasty on December twenty-seventh, and because he couldn't walk the entire way from his room to the kitchen, let alone the medlab, and he didn't want to be carried everyday. He had his good days, of course, and during those, he would walk as much as he could, but even then, his muscles pained him. On his worst days, he was nearly confined to his bed. He still threw up, and his muscles made the process even more detestable. But today was Christmas Eve, and it was one of his 'good' days.

Scott had requested Hank's help until they were on the main level, and then he walked off slowly on his own. One step alone wasn't any trouble, but twenty or thirty steps caused him great pain and he found himself leaning against the wall for a break. He wasn't out of breath, but it was as if his legs were telling him if he wouldn't agree to rest and allow others to help him, he simply would be standing. He grit his teeth against the pain and continued onwards. He was stubborn to the core simply because he would not let physical pain stop him any longer. He was tired of being weak and _needing_ everyone else just to get through one day.

He spotted Logan leaning against the threshold separating the hall from the recreational room, where Scott was headed. Scott glanced above Logan's head as he approached; mistletoe. He smirked and stopped before entering the rec room, which was already half-filled with students who were too excited to go to bed, or who really wanted to pig out on Marie's delicious Christmas cookies. Note to self, Scott thought, hunt some down.

"Logan, I know you want to kiss me. But I don't bat for the other team." Scott commented mildly, looking up at the Wolverine innocently.

Logan growled, and then glanced up. Mistletoe… he didn't need to tell Scott ANYTHING. He could stay here and wait for Ororo to pass. An innocent enough reason to kiss her. That was a good idea. "Could've fooled me, Cyke." He glared, but his look softened. "I need to talk to you." Logan grabbed Scott's arm and dragged him along.

"Whatever it was, Bobby did it." Scott started to protest his innocence. Logan had seemed really tense over the past few days. It probably HAD been Bobby to do something. Scott, however, had been holed up in the sterile medlab without much to do except read and snap at Hank. He needed to apologize to the blue monster for being so short with him.

"You know what," Scott felt his anger rise and bubble, and he fought to get some control over it, remembering the talk he'd had with Ororo a few days earlier. He didn't want to try to hurt anyone else, even if it was Logan, who wouldn't take it personally. "Just leave me alone, okay? What the hell do you want, anyway?" He demanded.

Logan let go of the younger man's arm and faced him. He glanced around them. They were down the hall from the rec room, and anyone who was going to be up seemed to be there already. He could easily hear the conversations going on, but doubted anyone would be able to eavesdrop without him noticing. He let out a sigh and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"I think there's something you deserve to know." He began, not bothering to beat around the bush. If he was going to tell Scott, then he'd have to do it now, while he had the guts to do so, and the confidence Scott was unable to come after him.

Scott didn't say a word; he merely nodded for Logan to continue.

"Before we came to rescue you and the Professor and the kids, we were camped out near the lake because the jet was screwed up. Jean came out of the jet after doing something to try and fix it and we talked for a bit, but…" Logan took a deep breath. "And I kissed her. But she didn't kiss back, except out of shock. She told me that girls flirted with the bad guy, but went home," He looked at Scott. " With the good guy. And that was it."

Scott blinked, unable to hide his shock because of the lack of glasses. "You thought I needed to know that?"

"I don't know about need, Cyke, but you deserved to know." Logan wondered if Ororo had been right in advising him to follow his instincts and telling Scott. Maybe it would look like a good idea in hindsight.

Scott fiercely bit down on his bottom lip, undecipherable emotions flooding through him. He was shocked that Logan would be honest with him, and that the other man had had the audacity to kiss Jean. Who, in their right mind, kissed another man's fiancée? He would never admit it aloud to Logan, but he was, after a moment, unspeakably jealous. With all of the hype of trying to get out of Stryker's compound, he hadn't had the chance. Everything had gone so quickly, and before he had known it, she was drowning before his very eyes. But this… this… this animal, who had no idea how beautiful Jean was, who didn't understand her every hurt or know how lonely she felt, who had little knowledge of who Jean Grey actually was, had gotten to be the last person to kiss her before her death. Perhaps he was being selfish, but her death had been so sudden. He couldn't have prepared at all for it. He couldn't have expected it, even though it had crossed his mind every time they put their uniforms on.

If Scott had known that the short kiss they'd shared before he'd left with the Professor to Magneto's prison would have been their last, he would have never stopped kissing her. If he could have seen her future, he would have taken special care to memorize every curve and every patch of skin when they had made love. If only he had known, he wouldn't have been so stupid… he wouldn't have driven her to accepting a kiss from another man.

The next emotion to strike him was grief. Unfathomable pain stabbed him in the stomach, and he was inclined to double over, but forced himself to stand up straight. He clenched his jaw, and stared Logan in the eye for a moment. His hard gaze faltered and he dropped it to the floor, and then turned around, heading towards the rec room, much like a lost puppy that had been kicked.

When he entered, he only garnered a few strange looks. People, both children and adults, were always coming and going in the mansion, so an injured adult was no mystery. The students trusted the Professor to keep them safe, and Scott found small solace in that knowledge, that the students knew the Professor would never abandon them. Scott wondered if it was even possible for Charles Xavier to leave a cause for any reason. He had never even given up on Magneto. Charles would always be a mystery, he mused as he took a seat on an empty couch.

A wave of heart-clenching pain attacked him as Scott recalled the words Logan had just spoken to him. He had _kissed_ Jean? _He_ had kissed Jean? He had kissed _Jean_? The very thought made his skin crawl. He wasn't the jealous type because he had trusted Jean implicitly. He knew she would never cheat on him, and they both kept the communication open. They had even talked about any dangerous attractions they felt, to keep themselves on the right path. He wasn't sure if he should be angry with Logan for overstepping his boundaries or at Jean, for betraying his trust.

He had no right to be angry with Jean. In fact, a small part of Scott was open to admitting that he had a hand in driving her to accepting a kiss from Logan. His stomach turned as he screwed his eyes shut, but then an image of Logan kissing Jean forced its way into his mind. He grimaced, and opened his eyes, focusing on the scene in front of him, trying to ward away that thought, but as it always goes, when one is trying to not think of something, he thought only of Jean and Logan together.

Scott was filled with regret as he thought of how he had put the X-Men and his duties to the school before Jean. He loved her, but he allowed himself to be distracted from what was important. Oh, he knew she understood, but that didn't excuse his behavior. He had asked her to marry him, asked her to allow him to put her first. What a stand-up job he had done.

_It was late, on a Tuesday night. Scott Summers was hunched over his desk, busily grading essays and daily work from his calculus class, and the latest test for his geometry kids. His infamous blue pen, since he couldn't see red on white paper, because white was red to him, was in between his index and middle fingers, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. He blinked, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight. He groaned, thinking of Jean, and looked back at his work._

_Scott ran a checklist of everything he needed to do that night. Finish grading papers, start putting together a final exam, run an extra diagnostics test on the jet, change the oil in his Porsche.. the list just went on and on, ranging from X-Men business to domestic duties, like ironing his button down shirts for class. He rubbed his temples. He really wanted to go upstairs, put everything aside and curl up beside Jean. He didn't know if she was busy or not, because often, she had lab work to finish and research to do. There was part of him that knew she did that to fill the time she could be spending with him if he wasn't so focused on his duties. _

_He was torn; should he go up and surprise Jean or stay here and finish his work? The first choice was truly tempting, but he sighed, knowing he would have more time later if he did all of his work now._

_Despite popular belief, he and Jean did not have a telepathic connection, but if they did, he would have known that she knew that this was just another night that she'd spend alone. They loved each other. That would never change. But sometimes… it was… complicated. And complicated meant painful._

Scott didn't know why he remembered that particular Tuesday, but it might as well have been that Tuesday, considering he had spent most nights in his office, doing a whole manner of things. He had thought the work he had been doing was important, and it was. Saving humanity from its hatred for mutants, and saving mutants from the evils humanity could put forth was important work, but there would always be another hero. He wouldn't be the one to finish the war. But there would never be another Jean Grey.

He knew she understood how important the X-Men were to him. She understood that, and supported him in his work. But he always had known he could do more, and sometimes he did go the extra mile.

"_Scott, what are you doing down here?" Jean asked, pleasantly surprised as she looked up from her microscope to see her grinning boyfriend holding a picnic basket._

"_Well, if we're both too busy to have a date and dinner, then we can have one right here. You're not too busy, right?" Scott asked teasingly as he took hold of her waist and pulled her away from her cluttered mess of research and data._

Those kinds of surprises had been few and far between. He hadn't been a perfect boyfriend, much as he had never been a perfect friend. He had never quite figured out why Jean had chosen him to love, when there were many more eligible young men drooling all over her. Sometimes quite literally.

Scott leaned back against the couch, sighing as he tuned out the low roar of the students talking about the next day, and how wonderful the Christmas season was. He closed his eyes, but opened them quickly. The mental image of his fiancée and Logan still hadn't worn away. He wondered if it ever would. It was disgusting. Jean was too beautiful for an animal like him to be touching. Their lips were meeting, and his fingers were going through her hair… he felt as though he would be sick again, and not from the lack of cocaine in his system.

He had known Jean had been attracted to Logan from the start. He'd seen the way they were looking at each other when he had entered the room, looking for her, on the night when Logan had first arrived at the school. He had been getting Rogue settled in, introducing her to a few of his other students and to the rest of the staff, and had been struck with an intense need to see her. Anyone with half a brain could have detected the sexual tension between the two. But he'd brushed off the idea; she'd promised him she would ignore her feelings.

_After making sure Logan was situated in his room, Scott and Jean walked down the hall to their personal room. Scott's stomach was twisting and turning restlessly. He forced himself to keep his gaze forward, refusing to give Jean any indication that he was in anything less than a perfect mood. He opened the door for her, and then shut it behind himself._

"_Scott…" Jean trailed off, placing her hands on his shoulders. "What's bothering you?" _

_Damn telepaths and this particular telepath's ability to read him flawlessly without digging into his mind. "Logan. Jean… I know you like him."_

"_Scott, I don't like him." Jean shook her head. "Sure, I'm attracted to him, but I love you." She leaned in and pecked his lips. "I love you, remember?" She took his hands._

_Scott looked down at their joined hands, and then back up into her eyes. "I love you too." _

"_Please don't get jealous, Scott. You have no reason to be. I love you, and at the end of the day, love always matters more than attraction. You will always matter the most to me." Jean wrapped her arms around his neck, and he brought her close._

Scott wondered if she had lied to him. To be honest, he had been jealous every minute she spent with Logan. He was jealous that she would flirt with Logan as well. Oh, he and Jean had flirted, but it wasn't so new and exciting. It was familiar and comforting. It was safe. Maybe that was what had driven her away. He had gotten boring over their long-term relationship that had turned into engagement.

Or maybe it was because he could sometimes be selfish or forgetful. He was a man; he wasn't perfect. He tended to forget things. Sometimes they were small things, like forgetting when her mother's birthday was, or not getting a card (his portion of any gift they gave together). There was only one time in their entire history he had forgotten her birthday, and he had made it up to her the next day by surprising her with the dress she had been coveting for months. He still owed Ororo for giving him Jean's dress size, even though he had been stupid and forgotten.

_Several weeks earlier, a close friend of Jean's had died. The two had been like sisters, and Jean had come to him, burying her face in his chest as she sobbed. He held her for hours at a time when they were alone in their room. She had grieved terribly for her friend, and when the funeral had come around, so many of her childhood friends had come to her and comforted her along with the family. As she came to terms with her friend's death, she was touched by all the effort people had put into trying to console her._

_Jean had sat down one Saturday afternoon and handwrote letters of thanks to every person that had sent her a card or a fruit basket. She had entrusted all twenty-seven letters to Scott to send the next day, placing them into his briefcase. _

_Scott had gone into town later that day with the students for a field trip. He had kept his briefcase in his hand the entire time, but had forgotten to send the letters. To him, it was a simple errand his girlfriend asked him to do. Weeks went by, and still, he didn't remember. To Jean… well, it was a different matter._

_Two months had gone by, and Jean was looking through Scott's briefcase for his secret stash of candy bars (oh, he thought she didn't know about his addiction to Snickers). She unzipped one pouch and stuck her hand in. She pulled out the contents, and immediately burst into tears._

_Scott, having heard her cries from the next room, rushed in. "What's wrong?" He asked as his eyes fell on the forgotten letters. "Oh, Jean…" He whispered, paling. "I'm so sorry. Here, give them to me, I'll send them right now. Oh, the post office won't pick them up until tomorrow. I'll deliver them personally… Jean, I am so sorry, I'll do it right now…"_

He had tried his best to love her as she deserved to, but sometimes he didn't take the time to do or say the little things that meant the world to her. He hadn't held her when she was at her loneliest, because he usually busy. She knew he loved her. Sometimes he was overwhelmed by the force of his love for her. But sometimes, he didn't tell her that he was happy to be with her. Maybe that had been his fatal mistake; not letting her know that he appreciated her.

Scott bit his lip at the thought as it caused him agony, breaking his heart once more. He took several quick, deep breaths, glancing down at his lap and the couch, upon which he reclined. His eyes shot skyward as he tried to ward off a sob. He really drove her away at the end.

"Hey Mr. Summers." A Southern-tinted female broke his painful thoughts.

Scott looked up to behold a grown-up Marie. He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. Her dark hair was back in a messy bun, and she had an apron over her jeans and sweater, and her face had several smudges of flour on it. Her cheeks were flushed from being in the kitchen all day and being around hot ovens. She had a blue plate of decorated Christmas cookies in front of her.

"Hey Marie." He greeted her, swallowing all of his emotions. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too." Marie Drake had missed her teacher, but Bobby had told her of everything he was going through, so, like Ororo, she would leave her pain for a later date. It was Christmas. No one deserved to be burdened with extra baggage on the holidays. "Would you like a Christmas cookie?"

Scott's friendly smile broadened into a grin, his heart touched by her calming and open manner. He knew she, too, probably had more than a few words for him, but she was willing to put her personal pain aside to reach out to him. She was selfless and loving, two things he had struggled with for his entire life. He wasn't a perfect Boy Scout like everyone assumed he was, simply because he had been the leader of a superhero team. Even then, some things he had done were out of personal gain. Sometimes he saved people just for the small moment of praise. Sometimes he did it for the Professor's approval. Never had he saved someone simply because it was the right thing to do.

"Don't mind if I do." He reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it. "These are amazing, Marie."

"Why, thank you." Marie smiled at him and glanced momentarily at the spot next to him.

"Please, take a seat. I'm sure you're exhausted." Scott grinned at her.

The night wore on, and slowly, the students stumbled to their beds, waiting for the Christmas magic to begin. The teenagers helped the small ones to their rooms, and then returned for Bobby's famous apple-orange punch, hot chocolate and cookies until they fell asleep across the rec room floor. Scott smiled to himself as Bobby came over and helped his wife up.

"Night, Bobby." Scott said, giving him a tentative smile.

Bobby clapped Scott on the shoulder, and then left with his wife.

Scott sighed. Yeah, with the atmosphere of love and warmth, Christmas was a beautiful thing. He missed that about the mansion. He got up moments later and started on the long, painful journey back down to the medlab, since it was closer than his room, the walk to which would require climbing stairs. He winced as his left leg cramped and he had to lean against the wall. He yawned, and continued.

A nearby clock chimed twelve times and Scott smiled.

His first Christmas back. What a wonderful thing.


	9. Christmas Means I Miss You

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.**

Scott Summers hadn't slept the entire night. He had managed the walk to the medlab, and despite his arms and legs feeling like lead and painful to use, he felt good about himself and where he was in his life, even though his past had been less than a shining example of goodness. His positive emotions lasted for half the walk to the medical table that also doubled as a patient bed. His left leg collapsed underneath him, and he vomited all over the floor. He had lain there, in a puddle of his own vomit, for five minutes until Hank had returned from getting himself coffee and toast, to help the scientist burn through the night, doing research and caring for Scott. The vomit had been cleaned up and Scott had been helped to the bed, but he didn't sleep.

His thoughts wandered from place to place as the hours wore on. Each minute seemed a chore to live through, and he allowed himself to become obsessed with the idea of finding cocaine… crack, heroin, anything. It really didn't matter anymore. He needed something to fill the empty void in himself before he went insane. Perhaps it was already too late for that; all he could think of was cocaine. He hated this place, and all of the hateful people it housed. He hated being forced to be away from the only thing that had ever offered him shelter from the storm of his life. It didn't matter to him that he was running to an inanimate object for the answer to his troubles and pains and that something that he artificially injected into himself could never truly heal him. It offered him momentary comfort, and that was all he had. It would be enough until his life finally dribbled away and he was faced with whatever came after.

Death no longer frightened Scott. If it came to him in the next minute, he would welcome it with open arms.

There weren't a lot of things that caused him pain anymore. Sarcastic or crude comments no longer affected him. If he were to be rejected for sex by some random tramp in a bar, he would live, and not just because he could easily find someone else willing to sleep with him. All seemed insignificant when compared to the few tatters of his heart that remained in his chest. When Jean had died, she had taken most of his heart with her, though she had left him a small amount of life left. He didn't know why. If he died, he would join her in whatever peace existed when life faded into nothingness.

Jean was dead. She was gone, forever. He would never hold her again, or see her beautiful face or smile. He would never be the rock she stood on when her strength was gone, or the support she leaned against when the entire world seemed to be against her. His favorite times in their relationship had been when she realized she couldn't make it through the world on her own and leaned on him, when she gave up control and allowed him to step in. He never thought less of her when she admitted she needed him to hold her in the dark nights, when she was frightened and despairing. His heart was nearly fit to burst as he thought on the dark days when she had been content to lie in his arms, completely vulnerable as he soothed her to sleep with gentle kisses along her cheeks and neck. When she had allowed him to protect her, then she had shown him who she really was. She was so beautiful; it often left him awestruck.

Every wonderful memory he had of them began to rush through his head, and he curled up on his side, crying out as his legs refused to move. He buried his face into his pillow, and allowed himself a silent cry. Tears found their way out from under his tightly squeezed eyelids and soaked the pillow quickly. The tears came at a rapid pace, and he could not muffle the sob that tore from his throat. One sob became two heartbroken sounds of weeping, and he was lost in his grief.

This one good cry wouldn't solve his problems. He wasn't even crying entirely for the loss of Jean. He was sobbing for the loss of cocaine, for the peace that he got from the drug. He was weeping because he was too pathetically weak to even try to steal some drugs he was sure were around. He needed drugs, but even more so, he needed Jean. He needed to be loved. It was simple. That was all he wanted.

All of his life… that was what he had dreamt about. His parents had died when he was so young. It took a great stretch of memory to envision their faces. He had no idea where his brother, Alex, was, and missed him terribly at times. He had lived on the _street_ for several years, stealing what he could and getting into trouble until Charles Xavier had stepped in. He clung desperately to the man because Charles had been the first to be there, and to never leave. He still hadn't left, even when Scott had.

Then there had been Jean. He had been enamored of her, even as a teenager. She was a dream to him. She was beyond hot and an undeniably amazing person. At first, it had been mostly hormones, but their friendship had developed, and he had found himself loving her. It had been so easy to love her. They fought, a lot, but it was so easy to forget about her faults and love her. She had made it easy; always apologizing when they both calmed down after fights and other such things.

Jean Grey had been the first woman to ever understand him. She had always been safe, and gave him every opportunity to tell her everything, to truly be vulnerable. He had never been disappointed when he truly needed her. She had been patient and gentle, kind and loving, everything any man could need in a woman. He had found the love of his life.

The door opened audibly, and Scott turned quickly onto his back, reaching his hands up to wipe his face. He knew his nose would be red and his eyes probably puffy and red as well, but he hoped it could be passed off as a sleepless night and… somehow he had smacked his nose. It could happen.

He forced himself to sit up, his anxiety shooting through the roof when he realized it was Ororo. He sniffed quickly, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. His heart began to race as she smiled at him, though her eyes were worried at the last vestiges of tears on his cheeks. It didn't comfort him that she didn't say anything at first. If there was one thing he'd learned about women, aside from the fact a man never glances at his woman when she asks him if an article makes her look fat (he merely answers no; it is a reflex), it was that they brought things up later, and often at the most inopportune times.

"Merry Christmas, Scott!" Ororo greeted him cheerfully, carrying two packages in her arms. She deposited them into his lap, beaming at him. "Well, open them up!" She urged him, almost jumping around like a little child.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Ororo. What are these?" He asked, his voice hoarse from crying, and he coughed, trying to cover it. He looked down at the two packages. One was small, about the size of a notebook, the kind students used to keep their work together. Another was much larger, filling his lap with its square, thick size.

"They're called presents, Scott. I'm sure you're familiar with them." She teased him, ruffling his mussed up bed hair. She ran her hand down the back of his neck in a gentle gesture, attempting to comfort his growing anxiety. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she smiled at him. "Come on, I'm sure you'll enjoy them." Her mood subdued, Scott looked up at her and sighed.

"You didn't have to." He mentioned as he found the place she had taped the sides of the paper together.

"I know. But it's your first Christmas back, and I wanted it to be special." Ororo explained. "I didn't think you'd be up, since it's only seven."

"Then why are you up?" He asked, finally pulling the wrapping paper from the smaller package. His heart stopped. He would recognize that dark blue, hardback journal anywhere. It had a golden J scripted on the front, and a blue tassel marking a page very close to the end. He ran his fingers over the front, gently biting his lower lip. "Is this…?"

"Yeah." Ororo nodded, letting out a sigh. "The diary of the last couple of years of her life is saved on her laptop, which is in one of the boxes. But I thought you'd…"

"Yeah." Scott nodded, his stomach doing odd gymnastics. "Yeah." He repeated softly, gently putting the journal aside. He didn't know if his heart could bear reading her personal thoughts at the moment. He looked down at the larger package.

He quickly ripped the paper away, carefully folding it and putting it aside so he wouldn't litter all over the floor of the medlab. He ran his hand over the soft, red leather front of what appeared to be a photo album. He opened it and turned to the first page. In beautiful script it simply read:

_Scott and Jean Summers_

Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked up at Ororo, confused. His throat and mouth were suddenly dry, and he found it impossible to swallow. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. He never would have thought simply seeing four words could have such a profound effect on him. A million thoughts were zooming through his mind as he stared at that first page.

"What is this?" He whispered, turning tear-filled eyes back to Ororo.

"It's part of the wedding present I was putting together for you two." She admitted, reaching over and touching the creamy pages fondly. "It's a collection of pictures and memories of the entire time you were a couple." Ororo touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think so." Scott looked at the first page again in wonder. He and Jean had talked about her taking his name, and she had considered Grey-Summers. Personally, it didn't matter to him; all that mattered was his ring was on her finger and they would have their future together. Then, several nights before she had died, she had told him that she wanted to take the Summers name.

… Yeah, sex had been great that night.

"Okay. How are you feeling?" She asked, glancing over to the office attached to the medlab where Hank sat at the computer, typing away, completely oblivious to what was going on due to the door being closed. She turned back to Scott, looking him over.

If she was honest with herself, he looked like a mess. His eyes were starting to clear up from crying, but he was pale. He looked exhausted, and she swore he appeared slightly green. She leaned in and gave him a hug, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. He responded, relaxing slightly in her hold as his breathing became deeper.

"I feel like crap." He sighed. "And I think I need to be alone."

Ororo nodded and kissed his forehead, taking the paper and leaving with a small smile. Scott looked down at the two presents. He wasn't sure how to react because an emotion would scurry through his mind, closely followed by another completely different feeling. He was confused, and then furious at Ororo for giving him something that would remind him of Jean. He felt as though his heart was ripping inside of his chest, and then an insurmountable sensation of joy spread through him, from his tangled and messed up hair to his feet.

He was somewhere between fear that he would never find peace and excruciating physical pain which always was coupled with intense emotional agony when Hank left the office with surprising quietness for a mutant of his size. He hadn't turned to the next page of the album, let alone touched the journal he eyed with wonder, awe and dreadful fear coursing through him.

"Merry Christmas, Scott. How are you feeling?" The doctor asked merrily, obviously infected, as he always was, by the spirit of the holiday. He was even humming Jingle Bells underneath his breath.

To Scott, it was absolutely sickening. He loved getting and giving gifts, and now… Ororo had given him the worst possible gifts. He couldn't deal with reading Jean's personal thoughts. It felt like some sort of betrayal, and he wasn't sure if it would be right. Neither could he relive their past as a couple through pictures and small memorabilia of their time together. "I didn't sleep. I don't think I can stand, either." He answered reluctantly, unsure of how to feel towards Hank who had done him no wrong. He could feel his anger boiling as if it was in his blood. "Just fuck off, alright? I don't need you breathing down my neck, okay?" He gesticulated furiously.

"Okay, Scott." Hank answered calmly. "If you want to go upstairs, there's an extra wheelchair in the office. I was making sure it was working, testing the controls and whatnot. I hope you'll come up, I'm sure Christmas breakfast is going to be absolutely wonderful." He reminded his patient, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Scott mumbled some form of a farewell, and waited until Hank was already in the elevator. He calculated Hank's speed of walking with the distance from the medlab to the elevator, and counted the seconds in his head. It had taken him longer than it would have, but he still had his mathematical skills. He would definitely need to sharpen his mind soon, or he would go crazy. The thought of getting his hands on his old books made him nearly giddy, but when his eyes fell on that little dark blue book, all mirth left him. His hands shook as he reached for it.

He picked it up from where he had put it after opening it and set it on his lap, considering it. When he and Jean had first been dating, he had seen her write in it a lot. He never would have thought her the type, but she had written a lot. Sometimes, he would leave her on a bench for hours outside in the sun, and would come back at twilight, searching for her, and would find her in the same position as he had left her in. He found it absolutely endearing. He never thought she would have kept it, though it made sense that she would.

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jean." He whispered, as if her spirit was right there with him, and opened to a random entry.

He had to muffle his cry when he saw her familiar, looping handwriting neatly on the provided lines. He composed himself as best as he could and forced himself to read it.

_Today, Scott took me on a wonderful date. I can't believe it's our one year anniversary! I've never dated one guy for this long, but Scott… he's just different. He's interesting and engaging, and actually cares about me. He does all those little things that guys never do after a few months. He opens doors, tells me I'm beautiful whenever he sees me, calls me whenever one of us is away to make sure I'm alright. Oh, and it is SO cute the way he gets all nervous when he's trying to be casual on important days. I don't think anyone else notices, since his sunglasses cover his eyes, but I can tell. He's so adorable like that._

_Anyway, the date. He took me to this intimate jazz restaurant. I'm still so giddy! He actually asked me to dance. I can't dance. I really can't, but he doesn't care at all. The way his arms felt around me, and the way he kept looking at me… I just want to spend more and more time with him. I want to take care of him and enrich his life. I want to make him happy, which would sound weird for any other guy but him. He's never acted as though he expects sex from me. He actually cares about me, and I… I never thought I would find a guy to say this about, but I love him. I love him so much. I love Scott Summers. He's… oh, I can't stop saying it! I'm even saying it aloud! I LOVE SCOTT!_

_I know I'm still so young to be saying that, but still, I really do. I want to tell him, but that would be weird. I don't know if he feels that way about me, even though I know without a doubt he cares for me and wants to be there for me. It is enough, but I still do want more. But you know, it won't matter to me if he doesn't find those feelings for a long time. I am in love with my boyfriend, and am willing to wait as long as it takes for him to feel the same way._

_But Ororo seems to think that he's completely "besotted", to use her words. She's a great friend, and I'll tell her tomorrow about tonight. But for tonight… it's all mine. Scott's all mine for tonight, at least. _

Tears began to fall down Scott's face and he reached a hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs that threatened to rip once more from his throat. He closed the journal, resolving to read it again, but not soon. He couldn't stand reading her thoughts. It was like a knife to his very soul. The wound was too near to him. Maybe in several months, or even several years, he would read it again. But not now.

Scott didn't bother reaching for the photo album. His stomach growled, and he got off of the bed, his muscles much easier to use than the day before. He still had to follow his regular morning routine; run to vomit several times in the bathroom, rinse mouth with Listerine mouthwash, and manage to weakly walk to his destination. His destination? The wheelchair. It made him look weak, pathetic and… well, he already admitted it made him look weak. Wheelchairs, however, did have their merits. He wasn't forced to walk or use his muscles much, and at the end of the day, he supposed that was what mattered most.

Stomach growling once more, he manipulated the controls to send him towards the elevator.


	10. Shopping Trip Goes Awry

**Author's Note: I changed the story rating to T. After all, there is only ONE event in the next chapter that's worse than anything in a PG13 movie. But if you think it warrants a change back to M, please leave me a review. I would be glad to change it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.**

After a few nifty tricks on the wheelchair, not that he tried to see how fast the wheelchair could go and if it could skid to a stop or anything similar, Scott's stomach demanded that he stop fooling around and get to breakfast. The aromas of a holiday meal were floating through the air, pulling groggy and half-asleep students from their beds, and drawing them to the dining room. It was as though an invisible rope had lassoed everyone and was dragging them, whether they liked it or not, to the delicious food that awaited them.

Scott found sitting in a wheelchair, no matter how inventive and technologically advanced it was for a wheelchair, quite boring. It moved slowly, compared to his normally brisk and strident pace. He sighed, urging it slightly faster before turning down the hallway that led to the dining room. He inhaled the wonderful scents once more, before he felt a familiar burning in the back of his throat.

The next few seconds were a blur. There came a point where he abandoned the wheelchair and forced himself to run to the nearest bathroom, which, thankfully, was a private one in a guest room, which was currently uninhabited. He collapsed in front of the toilet, and vomited forcefully. Everything that he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours came up, and it didn't taste so wonderful coming back out. The vomiting didn't stop with the food he had just eaten. His stomach seemed to take on a life of its own and everything was forced out of his stomach, including his own stomach acid.

Another minute passed, and with his strength fading away with his ability to create and process a coherent thought, he toppled over, smacking his head against the tile floor. He groaned, but continued to lay where he was. It was too much of an effort to even get up and flush the toilet, let alone living without drugs. There was no reason at all. He felt absolutely wretched. The last day or so had been a slight reprieve in his intense withdrawal symptoms, but now they seemed to be returning full-force and mercilessly. He found it hard to even move. He felt like screaming at the ceiling, cursing it for what had happened to him. He needed to rip something apart for how much he needed drugs.

Oh, drugs… he nearly drooled at the thought of putting something into his body… something… heroin, cocaine, anything… it didn't matter to him anymore. Whatever anyone was willing to offer him, he would take it, for any price. All of this suffering would be worth it if he could just find some drugs. He ached to have a needle in his hand. He simply ached because he was needlessly empty.

Scott pushed himself up, raking the fingers of his left hand through his hair, his right hand going to touch his stomach. He reached over to the toilet and flushed it. He leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes. He sighed. He started when a firm knock came on the door. He looked up at the door with wide, frightened eyes. He couldn't face anyone right now, and he was sure no one was staying in this room.

"Scott." It was Charles, his voice so soft and gentle that it was impossible to ignore.

"Yeah?" Scott answered weakly, in a voice that was no more than a broken moan.

The door opened to reveal Professor Xavier, a concerned look on his sophisticated face. Scott whimpered pitifully as he titled his chin upwards to look at the older mutant. Words seemed to fail him as he succumbed for a moment to his complete and utter despair. He closed his eyes, his heart nearly stopping as he felt the familiar burning behind his eyelids. He sighed, pulling the pair of glasses he kept with him at all times on the collar of his shirt, and placed them on. He opened his eyes.

"Oh, Scott." Charles murmured, wheeling himself closer and placing a gentle hand on Cyclops' head, paternally and gently running his fingers through the hair of the man he considered a son. "This must be terrible for you."

Scott, over the past years, had become almost indifferent to friendly human touch. He hadn't hugged anyone or warmly clasped another's hand, let alone had a lingering hand on his shoulder or anything similar. The warm hand on the top of his head and the presence of love in the room was oddly soothing. His eyes fell closed again and his body seemed to relax slightly.

"You're going to be okay, Scott." The Professor smiled in spite of himself. He knew his words were true. Scott Summers had always been so strong, no matter what trial was forced his way. Living on the streets and being alone had hardened him, to the point he was closed off. Over time, he had become quite the young man, charming and gentlemanly. He had fallen in love, and that was what had transformed him. Now, as Charles Xavier looked down at the broken version of the man he had taken in, he couldn't help but be optimistic. Scott Summers would be healed and well again. It would take time, but it would happen.

"You really think so?" Scott's voice was childlike and trusting.

Charles smiled once more. "Of course I do." He offered Scott a hand. "Come on, let's get you a cup of tea."

Scott couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled from his heart. "How definitively British, Charles." He accepted the hand and slowly, carefully got up. He stood, swaying lightly. He turned to the mirror and grimaced. "Actually, a cup of tea sounds very nice. I think it might help." He smiled at the man who had become a father to him, filled with hope.

Faith… hope… and love, and the greatest of these is love.

Lucky for Scott, he had all three constantly surrounding him. He'd definitely be okay.

**XXX**

Two months had passed, and Scott was in the kitchen, sitting across from two teenage boys. The one on the left was called Ricky. The one on the right was Taylor. They had equally disbelieving looks on their face, and Ricky looked tempted to start laughing. Taylor was slightly more sensitive than his best friend, and looked a bit green, if Scott was honest with himself and them.

"You're kidding me, right?" Taylor asked, straightening up a bit and taking a sip from his root beer. "I mean, there's no way…"

Ricky smirked, rolling his eyes. "No offense, dude, but you're what, forty?"

"Thirty-three!" Scott interjected indignantly.

"Whatever." Ricky rolled his eyes once more. "Taylor, if you will?"

Taylor picked up the binder he'd placed on the stool next to him. He slammed it onto the kitchen island in front of him and opened it. He turned it so it would face Scott and turned a page. "There is no possible way you could hit an inch-wide button to stop the total destruction of a medical facility from twenty-five feet away, and in the next room, no less! It's just not possible!" The pages of the binder showed several different diagrams, since the boys had both tried to reason out how Scott could have managed such a feat.

Scott adjusted his sunglasses haughtily and closed the binder. He had been entertaining the two boys by regaling a few of his more brilliant stories from the time he'd been an X-Man. He pushed the binder towards Ricky and let out a sigh.

"Richard, I understand that, because of your inexperience in the mathematical field, it may be hard to imagine me using the angles of the walls and ceiling to flawlessly hit a small target. But I promise you, it can be done." He smirked at the boys with such a note of play-arrogance that it was nearly dripping from his tone.

_Scott, I understand you're quite busy, _Scott could hear the sarcasm dripping from Charles' mental voice as well_, but I was wondering if you wanted to head into town to buy yourself new wardrobe. Ororo has been complaining about you wearing the same t-shirt for the last week._

Scott sighed. "I'll see you boys later." He slapped both of them high-fives and headed up to Professor Xavier's office.

He opened the door, and stepped in. "Hello, Professor."

Charles looked up from his coffee and smiled in greeting. "Hello Scott. How are you? Please, take a seat." He gestured to the two comfortable seats across his desk.

Scott found the Professor's smile infectious and returned it. He sat down, leaning back, obviously relaxed in this private, loving atmosphere. Charles paused for a moment and merely looked over the young man. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he had gained several pounds. He was slowly returning to his former physical state. Hank had reported positive changes neurologically, and was soon starting Scott through easy weight training and Danger Room sessions to help him regain his muscles and general health. He was proud of Scott for doing so well, and for working so hard to repair the damage he'd done. However, there was still one thing that seriously worried Charles. Not as a kind benefactor, but as a father figure. Scott was working out, eating healthy and definitely looking better. He smiled more often at more people. He was teaching Ricky and Taylor how to change the oil in a car, though he would never let two young rapscallions touch his precious Corvette that was in broken form after years of not being touched. He was making progress, but he had not talked to anyone, ANYONE, about Jean's death, or about Jean. He had allowed Ororo to help him with Jean's things, and he was letting Hank watch over and mother him. He was allowing everyone to do what they needed to do to find some sort of peace.

Scott was still suffering. It was understandable that he would be tortured over Jean's death for a long, long time. She was the love of his life, after all, but Scott wasn't doing anything about his suffering. Charles was worried.

"I'm doing okay, Professor." He answered.

Charles' smile faltered for a mere flash of a moment, and Scott wondered if it was just his eyes that were playing with him, and perhaps needed a check-up. "Very good." He took another sip of his coffee. "Anyway, Ororo and I have noticed that you don't have a large selection of clothing, and as a change of scenery, I thought it might be pleasant if you and Logan went to a nearby shopping center and found you a new wardrobe." He pulled open a desk drawer, easily finding what he was looking for, due to the habitual neatness of the desk.

Scott's eye was drawn to the shiny plastic credit card that Xavier was offering him. It was true; he did need a new wardrobe. He didn't plan on wearing his worn-down old sneakers for the rest of his life, and he would like to work out in different clothes than he slept in. It was getting difficult just having two pairs of socks. So, on a whim, he took the credit card and pocketed it.

"Thanks, Professor. Means a lot." Scott was already out the door.

Charles chucked quietly, returning to his coffee and his latest novel.

**XXX**

"Come on, Logan, we're going." Scott announced casually as he walked through the kitchen, taking a bottle of root beer from the refrigerator and heading to the garage, his favorite place in the entirety of the mansion.

Logan growled, glancing at Marie. Though the years had passed and she was married, he would always be her protector. They had been having a wonderful conversation about everyday things, the things that comforted them both most in the midst of their personal problems, and Scooter just had to come in and ruin it. Especially to tell him he, Logan, the Wolverine, would have to go somewhere with him, Scott Summers, One-Eyed Cyke, when he could be spending his time with Marie.

Marie laughed. "Go on, sugar." She gave him a light push. "It's not like you're avoiding me to go kiss Ororo or something."

Logan paused. It wasn't a freeze or anything obvious, but it was enough for Marie's experienced eye.

"I was just joking…" She laughed, on the verge of amused hysterics. "Are you and Ororo really dating?"

"No." Logan answered gruffly. "Haven't even asked her."

"So, you've kissed her, and you haven't even asked her to dinner? Logan, Logan, Logan…" She shook her head, getting up from the stool she had been sitting on to bustle about the kitchen, looking for the ingredients to her favorite snack: peanut butter and celery.

"I'll talk to you later, kid. Then you can give me love advice. But I've got a date with Cyke." He didn't bother correcting himself (Cyke would be lucky if that was true); he had enough to worry about, since he'd just given her permission to give him love advice. Hell, he hadn't been the one to take almost two weeks to accept Bobby's proposal.

Logan entered the garage to find the door open, and the sleek, black Mazda idling on the drive. He rolled his eyes as Scott's obviously bored expression. He opened the passenger door and got in. He slammed it, making the avid car freak wince.

Scott reached for the radio, but Logan's claws shot out. "No NSYNC." He warned in a dangerously low voice.

"For the last time, that CD was Jean's!" Scott hit the palms of his hands against the steering wheel, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Logan didn't miss what just had happened. Scott had said Jean's name without any tears or pain in his voice.

Scott didn't miss it either. His heart shattered in his chest, but he held it in. He was supposed to be dealing with his life now. He couldn't be constantly crying over every mention of his dead fiancée's name. He clenched his teeth and drove on.

The silence in the car was tense for the entire twenty minutes it took to reach the nearest mall. Since it was just after noon on a school day, the teenage crowd was all but nonexistent. Both men left the car and started walking towards the front. Again, it was completely silent. There were no words to exchange, so there was no reason to attempt making awkward small talk. They were closer than they let on, but it didn't mean they would go out to dinner or make sure the other looked cute in the matching pink numbers they bought together.

Scott's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced around the urban area. The mall they were at was on the outskirts of Westchester, but there were some larger buildings in the close vicinity. His sharp eyes could make out figures in the dark alleyways between the mall building and the offices. He casually glanced Logan's way. The Wolverine wasn't paying full attention to him, but if he ran off… he still wasn't fit enough to outrun Logan. Damn.

Scott resigned himself to shopping as they opened the glass doors and stepped into the warmed mall.

Twenty minutes passed by, and both Scott and Logan were weighed down by bags filled with every piece of clothing imaginable. Scott wasn't some meterosexual that needed every color of each style of shirt, but he did need a couple sweatshirts, jeans that fit and didn't hang off of his body, and new shoes. He even bought two pairs of khaki pants and several polo shirts and button downs (as he purchased them, he promised himself that he would teach again; he missed it).

Scott and Logan took a break in the food court as Scott slipped Xavier's credit card into his wallet. They were silent for a moment, but Scott just had to ruin the semi-peaceful silence.

"So, what's going on between you and Ororo?" Scott wasn't stupid. He wasn't blind, either. Sure, no one had pointed it out to him, but he had seen two very distinct signs that there was something between the two. Whenever Ororo was around, Logan seemed to do small things to make her more comfortable; offer her his coat gruffly, ask her if she wanted a drink, and that sort of thing. The second sign was that Ororo often accepted his efforts to help her. Ororo wasn't the kind of woman to allow a man to do everything for her, especially like getting a coat if it was cold.

"Nothing." Logan answered sharply.

"Yeah, right." Scott rolled his eyes.

"Listen here, Cyke, it's none of your damn business."

"Fine, fine." Scott backed off, but made a mental note to ask Ororo. She was often more willing to answer such questions, and she wasn't as hostile. It took all of the self-restraint he had not to mutter something rude underneath his breath, and it was so tempting, too. The gruff, attempting-to-be-nonchalant look on Logan's face was priceless.

"Are we done?" Logan asked, obviously bored of following Cyclops around.

"Yeah, we can go." If Logan noticed Scott's voice was slightly higher and more panicked than usual, he didn't comment. "Just let me go use the restroom."

"Fine." Logan decided not to make a big deal of it, and waited with the bags.

Scott ignored the fact that the nearest restroom was merely twenty yards away, and headed towards the front entrance. He forced himself to remain calm and keep a steady pace, especially since he could feel Logan staring at his back. He was sure Logan had no idea what he really intended to do, since the Wolverine hadn't appeared behind him and wasn't currently threatening him with his claws. Good. He didn't want to have to fight off Logan at the moment. He had more important things to do.

He realized he didn't have any cash on him, or not enough to get what he needed. He took a sharp turn into a nearby J. Crew store. Pulling a random shirt from the rack on his left, he made it look like he was checking for his size before heading to the counter to pay for it.

"Did you find everything all right?" Asked the peppy blonde girl behind the counter. "Wow, nice shirt." She commented, popping her gum idly. She scanned the bar code and pressed several buttons.

"Yeah, I did." Scott answered shortly, annoyed with how long the process was taking. He couldn't waste his time making small talk with a blonde bimbo!

"Okay… seventeen-fifty, please." She smiled at him.

Scott whipped out his personal debit card and swiped it through the card reader attached to the counter. As if in preparation, he had, earlier in the week, moved several hundred dollars from his savings' account into his checking, not wanting to rely on Xavier for everything. He put in his pin number, and pressed 'Yes' when the question, "Do you want cash back?" came up. He chose one hundred dollars.

He could feel sweat dribbling down the back of his neck as he waited in agony for the girl to pull out five twenty dollar bills and hand them to him, along with the bag that held his shirt. He left without a goodbye, stashing the bag and shirt into a nearby garbage bin. He pushed the glass door open, the cold winter air biting his face.

His legs seemed unsure and wobbly as he turned left from the mall, keeping on the sidewalk. He glanced casually into the alleyways as he passed by each one. His heart nearly burst with joy when he saw a transaction between two figures in front of his eyes. From his point of view, the pure red he could see, no matter how small or fleeting the view was, made him wish to melt onto the ground in relief.

If someone could have seen his eyes, hidden behind the aviator sunglasses as they were, one would have noticed they were unnaturally bright and eager as he approached the dark figure. Scott's sweaty palms clasped the twenty-dollar bills, his breathing uneven and erratic.

"How much for a couple of grams?"


	11. Alyssa's Side

**Author's Note: Do note that there is a scene of drug abuse in this chapter. Beware. I added a long row of X's from where you need to skip, if this kind of thing makes you uneasy, to where it's alright to keep reading. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.**

Logan raised an eyebrow as Scott returned, standing and picking up half of the bags. Scott took the other half, making sure not to connect gazes with the Wolverine. Logan knew immediately that something was wrong. He could smell the anxiety clinging to Scott like a parasite. Logan watched him carefully for a long moment as Scott bent to pick up the rest of his bags. Scott made the mistake of letting his eyes flicker to Logan's.

Logan held his gaze for a long moment, sniffing experimentally. The kid smelled differently. He didn't mention it, though. He had no idea what had Scott smelling weird. He might be getting sick, and he certainly looked like he was ill. He was nearly dripping with sweat, and he looked as if he was about to keel over any moment. The fact he was breathing quickly, as if he'd just run a mile, didn't give the Wolverine a great feeling either. But there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew there was something wrong, but Scott wasn't about to spill his heart out, and he couldn't assume anything or something could go terribly wrong. So he allowed Scott to get away with whatever it was.

Frankly, Logan knew what it was. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew it. Scott had drugs on him. It might not be illegal. It might be something from the health supplements store next to the Old Navy. But Logan knew it was some form of drugs, and Scott was planning to use it the moment they got back to the mansion. It made him sick to his stomach. The kid was doing really well. He was adjusting to life at the mansion, and had made some friends among the students. He was coming out of the garage with grease all over his hands and looking quite pleased with himself. The cars were definitely running better than they ever had, and the Corvette, if it could speak, was happy to be slathered with attention once more.

Scott was doing really well, and Logan didn't begrudge him wanting to find some other release. Logan had never been a big believer in talking about one's feelings, but he was willing to change those thoughts in this case. Scott needed to talk to someone about Jean. It didn't have to be the Professor or Ororo. It definitely wasn't going to be him, but Scott needed to talk before he completely snapped again.

The walk back to the car was completely silent once more. They stowed the bags into the trunk, and Logan grabbed Scott's arm, not missing the way the younger man jumped. "I'm driving, Cyke." He rolled his eyes as Scott started to protest. He ignored said protestations and sat in the driver's seat.

Scott cussed him out for a few moments, but stomped over to the passenger side. "Just don't crash my damn car."

"Just for that, I think I will." Logan snapped in return, just to piss Scott off.

Scott glared at Logan, but didn't take the bait. His hand slipped into his pocket, but he stayed quiet, knowing it was better to take the torture of Logan touching his precious car than to try and struggle. Whenever he struggled, the agony just got worse. It always did.

For Scott, the drive back to the mansion seemed to take forever. He wondered if Logan was purposefully taking them in circles. The wait was killing him. The small, tiny, almost unnoticeable scar in the crook of his left elbow seemed to throb with the anticipation. His right hand, which was shoved into the pocket of his jeans, caressed the several syringes with an almost loving touch. Finally, after the many weeks he had been denied cocaine, he would have relief. It wouldn't last long, and he didn't need it to. He just needed a moment of peace, and he was sure that, after he had that, he would be absolutely fine to continue his life.

He shifted continually in his seat, unable to find a comfortable spot. He found breathing at a normal rate to put off any suspicion to be absolutely impossible. His heart was beating so quickly it was hammering inside of his chest, and he was coming close to hyperventilation. He needed to inject himself. He needed it so bad he was actually feeling pain from not being able to have it. He clenched his left fist, the one not currently in his pocket, and unclenched it, finding some relief in focusing on that one task alone. It would be enough until they got back to the mansion.

Scott felt as though several hundred pounds had been lifted from his shoulders when the mansion came into view. Logan turned into the drive and parked in the spacious garage. He started to get out of the Mazda, glancing back at Scott.

"You coming?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nah, I'll get the bags later. I want to work on the Corvette." To make his point, Scott shakily got out of the car and walked over to his small toolbox just for the cars. There was a large toolbox for various tasks around the mansion, but he hoarded all of the best tools for working on his precious cars.

Some of the students were SURE that he had cursed it. No one dared to touch it, lest a plague fell upon them. Like… frogs and stuff.

Scott set the toolbox down onto the concrete floor and laid down. He pushed himself back underneath the Corvette. It was still jacked up from when he had worked on it earlier that day. He expertly opened the toolbox without looking and took out the last wrench he had used. He pretended to be working and tinkering with some of the loose things on the underside of the car, not bothering to make mental notes about the things he needed to replace. He stayed put until he was sure Logan's footsteps were not returning.

Scott scrambled out from underneath the Corvette and ran over to the large toolbox. He threw the drawers open, shifting through the tools, looking for a lighter. He finally found it underneath some rubbish in the aptly named rubbish drawer. He nearly sprinted to the darkest corner of the garage and fell to the ground, leaning his back against the cold wall.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

His hands were nearly shaking as he pulled the syringe from his pocket. A plastic cap covered the sharp needle but he wasn't about to take his chances. He flicked open the lighter, blinking as he felt a surge of grief, remembering John Allerdyce. He paused for a moment, thinking of the young man. He'd never paid attention and had never done a scrap of homework. Yet the boy had had his own measure of charm, and they had connected on some level, though it was hardly believable. But Scott understood John, though he had probably never known it.

His sorrowful thoughts were interrupted as he turned his eyes once more to the needle. He bit the cap off, spitting it out. He held the syringe carefully as he used the lighter to sterilize it. Dating a doctor and having these habits was unavoidable, and it probably had saved his health from hepatitis B and C and HIV all of these years. When he was sure the needle was safe to use, he straightened his arm. He grimaced as he felt a small measure of pain as the needle broke his skin in an all-too-familiar place, but then all he felt was peace as he pushed the end of the syringe and the cocaine entered his bloodstream.

He tossed the syringe into a nearby garbage can, and tucked the other four syringes into his toolbox. He knew for a fact no one would dare touch it, but just in case, he slid the box underneath the Corvette. No one would go near it. He was still anxious at the thought, so he kicked it and sighed in relief when he heard it thud against the wall. He took several deep breaths, silently urging the drugs to circulate in his system faster.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

He waited several minutes in the garage until he felt the first wave of exhilaration splash over him. His energy level spiked, and his heart pounded faster, but not uncomfortably so. He felt… he felt great. He felt as though he could have taken on the world, physically or emotionally, and come out victorious. For lack of a better word, he was completely pumped.

His earlier hunger was suppressed, and he felt ready to go. With one last glance back at the Corvette, he entered the mansion. He took a deep breath, reveling in his pounding heartbeat. This quickened heart rate was no mystery to him. In fact, it was comforting to him. He leaned against the wall for a moment, relishing in the euphoria that came with having an alien substance shooting through his blood. It stimulated every nerve in his body, making him feel unusually strong and hale. He felt whole and together.

Panic nearly made his heart stop when he spotted Logan walking down the main staircase with Ororo. Scott knew Logan's wolf-like senses could detect what was shooting through his bloodstream. He swallowed, his eyes going from side to side, looking for some place to run where Logan couldn't find him. A voice inside of his heart was screaming at him to leave. Take the bike, put all of his money into his checking account, and just leave. If he kept shooting up, he wouldn't need to eat. He would have a good supply of drugs for a while. He could figure something out. He didn't have to stay. He could leave. He didn't need to be constantly watched, like some sort of criminal. He could be free again.

"What do you think you're doing, bub?" Logan asked in his dangerous voice, his hands suddenly grabbing Scott's collar.

"Logan, what are you doing?" Ororo demanded, putting a hand on the Wolverine's shoulder.

"Let go of me, you fucker!" Scott snapped, attempting to pry Logan's fingers apart, his behavior quickly turning violent. "I didn't do anything! I just saw you five minutes ago." He hissed, becoming frustrated with the fact Logan was so much stronger than he was. And there was the fact that he had adamantium lining his entire skeleton.

"I don't think so." He shoved Scott against the wall, making a nearby painting shudder with the force. He turned to glance at Ororo. "I can smell something on him. I knew there was something messed up about you when we came back. Didn't know you were a sneaky bastard, though."

Ororo placed her hand on Logan's, gently easing his fingers apart, guiding him to let Scott go. Her dark eyes looked up at his face, and her hand stayed on his, though Scott was free. He hadn't moved. He was frozen against the wall, eyes flicking from side to side, looking for a means of escape.

"Scott, did you… did you…?" She couldn't even make herself say it. It broke her heart that he had found drugs and used them. She should have known better than to think that he was doing better. She should have realized that the first few months were torture for recovering drug addicts, but he had been doing so well after his withdrawals subsided. Ororo realized he was a lot more tortured than anyone had realized. "Oh, Scott."

Ororo stepped in front of Scott, reaching out to embrace him. He glared at her and shoved her away, her back coming in contact with Logan's chest. The Wolverine instinctively wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn't fall. Scott took this opportunity to sprint away, up the stairs, trying to get as far as he could away from the two.

Logan sighed, his arms relaxing around Ororo, who seemed to lean against him, seeking support. He stepped to her side, an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, you okay?"

"No, I don't think so." Her voice had a slight edge to it; she was trying to keep her emotions from overflowing. "I'm worried about him, Logan. I thought he was doing so well. He was! And now, we're back to square one, and I don't know how to help him." She admitted quietly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Scott will be fine. He'll figure it out." Logan's voice wasn't as sure as his words were. "If anyone, Chuck can help him. I think he just needs time."

"Thanks Logan." She smiled up at him. "I'm still very worried. He's always been the leader, the strong, focused one. He could be very uptight, but he needed to be. He was always helping everyone, and now, when he needs help… it's like I'm not doing enough."

Logan leaned his chin on her head, letting out a sigh. "You can't fix him. I don't think it works that way." He told her honestly.

"Then what do we do?" Ororo's arm snaked around his back, sighing into his shirt.

"We could always get Bobby to ice him in his room." Logan offered mildly, smirking at her.

"Oh, Logan." Ororo rolled her eyes. "I'm going to check on him."

He caught hold of her arm. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"He needs to be alone. If he needs us, he'll come to us. Chuck will talk to him. You know he's the only one Cyke really listens to." Logan found her hand and held onto it, pausing.

"What is it?" Ororo asked, gently squeezing his hand.

"You want to… go to dinner sometime?"

Ororo smiled and nodded. "Okay. That would be nice."

**XXX**

Scott, after leaving Logan and Ororo behind, entered his room to enjoy the feeling of energy shooting through him. He itched to go rescue his other syringes. Now that Ororo and Logan knew that he had more drugs, they would try to find them and destroy them. The thought almost suffocated him with fear. He couldn't let his drugs be found, let alone taken away from him. He had been sitting on his bed, but he had fallen onto the floor in panic. That one syringe had given him such a rush of exhilaration. He couldn't live without it. He wouldn't.

Several minutes passed by, and the drugs passed through his system, and the high disappeared. He crashed back into depression. He couldn't live. Dangerous thoughts of suicide flittered through his mind, teasing him with their easy escape routes. It would be so easy to simply give up. It wouldn't be that hard, either. He had four syringes full of cocaine. All at once, it could possibly kill him. He could crash one of the many cars. There was an entire med-bay underneath the school, filled with all sorts of drugs he could easily overdose on. It wouldn't be that hard at all. Then he could be with Jean.

He jumped when a knock suddenly came at his door. "Go to HELL." He yelled, not in any mood to deal with anyone who came to attempt to patronize him and comfort him.

Scott did not doubt the only reason anyone had ever comforted was out of their own sense of duty, that it was something they had to. Then, when they did their duty, they gave themselves a pat on their back, telling themselves how they had saved his life with their empty, cold, emotionless words, how they truly understood his pain. The truth remained that no one knew how he felt.

"Please, Mr. Summers, can I come in?" Alyssa Earnest's shaky voice came through the door.

Scott's heart softened slightly, and he got up and opened the door. "What do you what?" He asked, though not unkindly.

Alyssa looked up at his face, considering the question, as if it had more layers than he had intended. She arched her eyebrow slightly and reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out his empty syringe and the other four he had stashed into his toolbox. His eyes widened and he couldn't help but stare, mesmerized.

"How did you find those?" He asked, suddenly defensive and he attempted to snatch them from her hand.

Alyssa was quicker. She pulled her hand back and stuffed the syringes back into her pocket. "Emily and I went to get burgers for ourselves, and I saw the empty one when I went back into the garage to get something from the car. I knew it was yours, and I easily found the others." She answered him calmly. When she saw he wasn't going to get volatile in the near future, she stepped around him and took a seat on the chair by the window. "Sit down." She invited.

Scott complied, confused as to why she was even there. Yes, she found his needles and drugs. Why hadn't she run to the Professor like any sensible mutant would do? He watched her face. She seemed on edge, slightly anxious. Her fingers were trembling. She was taking deep, soothing breaths to calm herself. It didn't seem to be working.

"What do you want, Alyssa?" He asked in a quieter voice, calmed by her presence.

As a water-manipulator, Alyssa had an inherent sense of serenity. She was usually very calm in tense situations. At all other times, she was a normal young woman, but when it came down to it, she would come through. Her inner peace seemed to exude from her being and infect anyone standing too close. It was a wonderful thing, and Scott could almost feel waves of peace and serenity washing over him, urging him to relaxation.

"I wanted to talk to you." She responded, her eyes on the floor. "We're not that different, you know? We're in different places, but we're very similar. You think you're so alone, that no one really understands. I get that, but actually…" She trailed off, finding the courage and strength to bring her eyes up to his face. "I do understand. I'm probably the only one who does. The Professor is wise beyond anything, but he hasn't been in the same situation. But I have."

Scott hadn't understood what she was talking about, and found himself becoming angry. How could she ever understand what he was going through? She was only in college, and she hadn't lost the love of her life. But with those last three words, it donned on him. His mouth was suddenly dry. Though he was wrapped up in his own problems, as he very well should be, he was still a teacher and protector at heart. The very thought that one of his own had gone through the same pain and struggle with drugs made him sick. He felt a paternal surge of distress and worry, wondering if she was alright, if she was still shooting up when she was alone.

Alyssa exhaled slightly in cynical amusement. "Don't freak out, Mr. Summers, okay? We're not here to talk about how screwed up I am." She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest, chewing on her bottom lip. "But yeah, I did drugs. When my mutation manifested… I didn't know what to do. My parents were so loving that they didn't throw me out. They loved me, even though they were scared that their daughter could splash her little brother when he was ten feet away from the pool without being near the water, but they still loved me. Because of this, though, I never felt I could tell them anything about how I was feeling. I kept everything inside because I didn't want to burden them anymore than they already were, with a mutant daughter."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. "When I was fourteen, it was just like I was sinking. Everything was piling up, and everyone at school knew I was a mutant. It was like I was completely alone, and there was so much I needed to do… I just couldn't figure out how to get my feelings out. One of my shadier friends found me crying and gave me a needle." She paused, continuing to chew on her lip as her heart thudded in her chest. "It helped, you know? It did. For a while, I didn't have to wonder if people were going to try and hurt me, or if my parents actually loved me, or that maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I could be okay for a bit."

"But," She gave him a half-smile at this. "This was when Xavier came to my house and offered me a spot at the school." Scott noticed her eyes took on a new quality. They were almost shining with unspoken gratitude, one that he could understand. "He talked to me while my parents were in the kitchen, and he read my mind. He knew I had been doing drugs for a year and a half, and he offered me help, and I took it."

"So, you've been clean for…" Scott attempted to do the math in his head.

"It's been seven years." Alyssa smiled at her former mentor and teacher. "Yeah, it was hard, and right after my withdrawals, I visited a few… friends. After that visit, I was high for three days straight. Then, one of my best friends tried drugs for the first time. She ended up in the hospital because she went into a coma. Two weeks later, she died. That really woke me up. I swore off drugs and didn't leave the mansion for almost two months." She looked down at her hands, unable to keep eye contact as she was spilling out her heard and mind.

"But you want to know what helped the most?"

"You have to ask?" Scott wondered, making her chuckle.

"Guess not." Alyssa shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with this whole situation. She knew, in some deep part of herself, that she could help him with this, but it was still awkward. She was a little more than ten years younger than he was, and he had been her teacher. "What helped was talking about it. The drugs were the problem at first, but what made me want them was that I didn't have anything else to give me some peace. I talked to Xavier, to Emily, even to Bobby. I just kept talking until they told me to shut up, which was never. I guess, Mr. Summers, that we just forget sometimes."

"Forget what?" He asked.

"We forget that people actually love us and want to help us. No one could replace Dr. Grey, Mr. Summers; everyone knows that. No one hurts more than you do, but we do hurt also. We hurt because you are a great man, and you're trying to do this on your own. You can't. You know that, man. Just let other people help you, even if it means trying to beat the hell out of Logan."

"That would help." Scott mused. "Not with my problems, but that would just help."

"See?!" Alyssa laughed aloud, standing up. "You okay?" She looked at him as he stood up as well.

"I will be." He answered with a small nod. "Thanks, Alyssa."

"Anytime. That's what friends and former students are for." She grinned up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a friendly, comforting hug.

Scott returned the hug, and then opened the door for her. "I'll think about it." He then remembered the deadly contents of her pocket. "Hey, Alyssa."

She turned around, looking up at his face. "Yeah?"

"Get rid of those for me, okay?" He nodded to her jacket.

Alyssa placed a hand in her pocket and nodded. "Sure. Promise me you'll talk to someone?"

"I promise." Scott offered her a small smile, and watched her walk off to her own room.

He closed the door, leaning against it. He realized he had promised to talk to someone, and he wasn't doing anything now, and the sooner the better. He didn't have to like it. He knew he wouldn't like bearing his soul for someone to see, but he had promised Alyssa, who had done a great thing, admitting that she'd done drugs as well. If she could do it, then there was hope for him.

Scott left his room, taking the nearest elevator up to the floor on which Xavier's office was. He paused in front of the door.

"Come in, Scott." Charles' voice came from within.

He rolled his eyes at the notion of telepathy and how annoying it could be, making sure to keep those thoughts loud in case Xavier _was_ listening. He opened the door. "Professor, can I talk to you? It's… urgent."


	12. Conversations Arise

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.**

Charles Xavier looked up from the latest administration papers he needed to complete for the school to see Scott standing in the doorway. He smiled, finishing his flourishing signature, and nodded.

"Of course, Scott. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?" The Professor reached towards the coffee pot in front of him, filled with an English breakfast brew.

Scott nodded, taking a moment to unstuck his throat. "Um, yeah. Just coffee. Black." He ran his hand through his hair, still attempting to process all that Alyssa had told him as he took a seat across from Xavier. He leaned back, letting out a sigh and accepting the coffee. On a whim, he took a small spoonful of sugar from the decorative china container. He took a small sip. "Oh, God, that's amazing." He gave the Professor a small smile of relief. Coffee was a godsend.

"I trust Alyssa went and talked to you?" Xavier asked, sipping his own coffee, observing the man in front of him. Scott looked exhausted, in body and mind. He reached out with his mind and soothed Scott's gently; he didn't even dare to read Scott's mind, it wasn't his place, and he had an inkling of what Alyssa had said, anyway. His only intent was to give what small comfort he could.

Scott's eyes softened and he nodded slightly, acknowledging and thanking Charles for what he had done. "Yes. I always knew that girl was special. Both she and Emily. Alyssa… I never would have seen it, but it certainly explains a lot. She and Emily seemed a lot older." His voice was quiet and calm, unable to feel the raging demon of anger that had once been his constant companion. His gaze fell to the floor, in awe that one of his students had been through what he was at a young age and had survived. There was hope in that.

"Yes, they always did. But what about you, Scott?" There was a note of disappointment in Charles' voice, and Scott's heart plummeted.

He'd finally done it, hadn't he? He'd managed to lose the respect of his mentor and father figure. His entire mouth and throat were completely dry, and his heart trembled in his chest. Tears wet his eyes that were averted to the ground, and he couldn't bring himself to move or answer. He simply stared at the same spot on the carpet, overcome with self-loathing. How could he do this? Charles had done so much for him. He'd taught him everything that he needed to know, and taught him how to become a man. He had turned around and done this. He deserved death.

"Scott..." The wheels of Charles' wheelchair were almost silent against the carpet as he moved closer to Scott.

"Yes?" Scott looked up, fighting to keep his composure when he saw the raw compassion and love on Xavier's face.

"There is nothing you could ever do that would make you less of a son to me. I trust you implicitly on all matters regarding the X-Men, though there have been little of late. You are my son, Scott, and blood could not increase my love for you. I will always accept you back, no matter your offense. I am not disappointed in you. I don't want you to be hurt, and that's all." Charles placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

Scott dropped his gaze once more, taking shuddering breaths to control his oncoming tears. He managed to keep them at bay. He could cry like the little emo boy he was on the inside later. Right now, he needed to fulfull the promise he'd made to Alyssa, who had helped him in ways she would never know. He took another deep breath to steady himself.

"Professor…" He trailed off, attempting to find the words. "Will you read my mind?"

"Of course." Xavier placed his hands on Scott's temples and concentrated.

Scott focused on bringing a few certain images into the forefront of his mind.

_Scott laid collapsed on the muddy ground in some God-forsaken alleyway, sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He didn't remember how he'd gotten there, and the only thing he cared about knowing was that he didn't mind that he didn't remember; all he cared about was shooting as much cocaine and heroin into his bloodstream as he could stand. He gasped as it all reached his brain, and he writhed on the ground, all of his nerves on fire. It was the first time he'd injected more than two syringes' worth. He was addicted to it._

_Several hours passed by, and he was in the same spot, but the drugs had burned out of his system. He had crashed into depression and he gasped for air as grief suffocated him._

"_Jean… Jean!" He cried out into the empty night. No one answered. Jean had called him to him for the first few years, but he'd drowned it out with drugs. He didn't hear her anymore._

Scott fought away the tears, but couldn't find anything else he wanted the Professor to see. He bowed his head, roughly wiping away the two tears that trickled down his face. He cleared his throat as he warded away all signs that he was anything less than composed. Having Charles read his mind was different than actually talking about it, but it still helped. How could he describe such a dark moment in his life?

"Would you like to talk about it?" Xavier's soft voice asked.

"I miss Jean." Scott stated simply. "I simply miss… her. Everything about her, everything she was. I'm so alone without her. I don't know how to live without her as my strength. I'm so weak and worthless. She gave me something… I felt as though…" He stumbled over his words, unable to articulate what he was attempting to communicate. "As long as I had her… things were going to be okay. She was my reason for hoping in my darkest days. I would look at her, and see the way she smiled, and I wouldn't understand how I could have been so sad earlier. She was my source of everything, and I never believed her when she said the same of me. She was everything to me, and I'm nothing without her."

He leaned back, closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. "I want to be strong again. I want to live again. Alyssa taught me that, ironically." His lips twitched slightly in a small smile. "I don't want to be so broken. It's so painful. The weight of the world is bearing on me without her as my shelter, and I can't adjust. I want to, Charles, I want to." He looked up abruptly, meeting Xavier's eyes. "I just miss her so much. I'll love her till I die." It was no stubborn declaration of grief. It was a simple statement of fact. He would never stop loving her. He didn't know, but perhaps he would love again. But he would never stop loving Jean, the woman who had saved him from the darkness of his childhood and the despair of a hopeless world.

Scott sighed, the wounds on his heart becoming raw once more. They bled freely, and the pain was almost overwhelming. It would have destroyed him if not for the gentle, soothing touch on his mind. He took a deep breath, accepting the touch on his brain and heart. He greatly welcomed Charles' hand on his shoulder.

"How did what Alyssa say change your mind about this?" He asked quietly, his dark, wise eyes filled with compassion and longing as he thought of Jean. He thought of her everyday, but it hurt once more, talking about Jean with Scott.

Scott exhaled and recalled the conversation they'd held. His student… he still couldn't comprehend the fact Alyssa, one of the sweetest, liveliest people alive, could have been in such a bad place, but he understood. He was grateful she understood. She didn't have to understand what it meant to lose someone you desperately loved. She didn't have to know that. All she knew was the despair of being alone in pain, and trying to find a way to heal it, but that attempt being destructive. She knew what it was like to try and fight that deadly addiction. It was a comfort. She was someone who had been through what he was going through.

"She's… she's done this, and I think that's more of a comfort than anything." He began softly. "I just need to know this is possible, and she proved that to me. It's not impossible, and I can learn to live without shooting up, and without Jean." He choked on the last two words, and a few tears slid down his face.

Professor Xavier nodded slightly. "We all miss her." He murmured.

"Am I being selfish?" Scott asked suddenly, his eyes searching Xavier's.

"What do you mean, Scott?"

He considered his own question, searching in his heart for the reason behind it. "I have this disgusted feeling in my gut, like I'm making too big of a deal out of this. Like I should be over this, and over Jean."

"No one would ever expect you to be over Jean. She was the woman you loved, the woman you were planning on marrying. That is a connection that is painful and disastrous to sever." Charles leaned back in his wheelchair, and then wheeled around to his desk to sit in front of his coffee. "You are not being selfish. Would you say that Alyssa was selfish in what she did?"

Scott's heart nearly stopped at the very question. Of course, she had been a teenager when he had known Alyssa best, but selfish was an inherent trait of teenagehood. She did not seem more selfish than anyone else. "Of course not." He muttered in reply, coming to the conclusion Charles was steering him towards.

"Scott, I cannot understand everything you have gone through, though I could read your mind and see your experiences, but one thing I have learned is that we often doubt ourselves, when we are on the right road. I could tell you not to doubt yourself, but doubting seems to be an integral part of who you are."

Scott thought about taking offense from that, but it was true. Truth wasn't always a comforting thing. "Touché, Charles, touché."

Xavier gave a small smirk, and then continued. "But, as it turns out, so is overcoming that doubt to work for the better of yourself and the school. You are constantly amazing me with your ability to do what is right, when others what would do what was more comfortable for them. I know you will be alright, Scott." He took a sip of his coffee. "In time."

Scott nodded, his chest suddenly light and unburdened. It was as though his lungs had been freed from some invisible bonds, and with each breath, new strength filled him. He smiled in gratitude.

"Thanks Professor." He said sincerely. "I needed that. I'll see you at dinner." He stood up. He took two steps to stand near the Professor and bent down to embrace the man who had become a father to him. He found smiling much easier as he turned around and left the study.

He turned down the hallway, taking the conversation that had just gone on and placed it in the back of his mind. He would need the words of encouragement later, when it became a struggle between freedom and bondage. He smiled slightly, a rush of pride flowing through him. The professor thought highly of him; he thought he could do it.

Scott waited for the elevator to come, and then went to the main level. He saw the game room, chaotic with activity, everyone attempting to burn off stress from school. He smiled at a few boys who rushed by, throwing hurried apologies over their shoulders. He found the porch door and opened it, walking down the stairs quickly. If there was anywhere he knew Logan would be on a school afternoon, it would be supervising the basketball games. Well, supervising was such a strong word. Participating and winning the basketball games were the more appropriate terms.

One might ask why Scott would be purposefully seeking out Logan, of all people. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself. Maybe if he sought him out, it would be understood that he was sorry. He didn't hate Wolverine; what more could someone expect of him? To explain his feelings and apologize? Scott was not a wuss. Please.

"Cyke." Logan greeted evenly as Scott came to stand beside him.

"Logan." Scott replied. "Did you get your ass kicked by teenagers?" He asked curiously.

"No." The Wolverine was sorely tempted to flip Scott off with his middle claw, but there were children around. Though such primal instincts (beat Scott up, flip him off, etc) were as alive and well as they were all those years ago, he knew Ororo would electrocute him if she ever found out. His skeleton was lined with adamantium, which was metal. That wouldn't be pleasant. "I'm waiting until Bobby gets here."

Scott nodded distractedly, his eyes moving to the game. He was not going to apologize. He simply wouldn't. He had done no wrong; Logan should mind his own business. "Sorry about earlier, I shouldn't have reacted so badly. I was wrong." _Damn_.

Logan glanced at Scott, an eyebrow raised, before his gaze turned back to the game as well. "Okay." His voice was even and controlled, and it only served to fuel Scott's anger at himself for even apologizing.

"What? Just 'okay'?" He hissed, keeping his voice down.

"Yeah, okay." Logan mocked.

"Now, now, boys, don't fight." Ororo's voice broke both of their anger.

Logan and Scott turned around in unison to face Ororo. She smiled at them, her attention moving to Scott. "Are you okay?" Her voice shook slightly.

Scott nodded, his eyes averted in shame. "Yeah, I am." He looked back up at her, and, having known her so long, knew date clothing when he saw it. "Ororo, who…?" He stopped himself, and then looked at Logan, and then back at Ororo. "Wow, Ororo, I think it's my duty as your friend to advise you that your choice in dates is awful." He ducked a swipe from Logan, smirking.

"Clever, Scott." Ororo chuckled. "Are you ready to go?" She asked Logan.

"Yeah. I'll meet you in the garage." With that, he left, glad for the escape.

Scott took this opportunity, knowing he might not have the courage to say what he needed to do at any other time. "Ororo, I am so sorry for shoving you and being so sharp." He sighed, and then continued. "And I'm sorry for saying your choice in dates was awful." His tone was grudging, but the corners of his lips were turned upwards; he was laughing on the inside.

Ororo smiled and took his hands. "I forgive you, Scott. Now, I have to get on with my awful date." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek affectionately. "Have fun, okay?"

Scott watched her go, feeling some semblance of peace settle in him as he took a seat on the bench beside the basketball court. Yeah, he wouldn't mind living the mansion life again. He missed it. He settled back, and took up position as official referee and scorekeeper for the intense, although impromptu, basketball tournament.


	13. Another Slash On My Wrist

**Author's Note: This chapter is, obviously, from Scott's point of view. I felt the need for a break and a chance to fully explain how Scott feels about everything.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.**

My name is Scott Summers. I was once known as Cyclops, the leader of the X-Men. When we were alone, Jean would call me, much to my chagrin (and secret amusement), Scottie. I'm well aware of the fact this makes me sound like a teenager, but it remains true: I do not know who I am. Each of my names holds a different facet of my personality, and each I used to be comfortable in. Scottie died with Jean, though. A lot of me died with Jean.

Jean was my best friend. First and foremost, we were best friends. Before we began dating, I found I could tell her anything, and it was a different kind of safe with her. With my other friends, I didn't feel the need to explain myself. With Jean, I needed to, or I wouldn't be able to cope. I did tell her everything. I know I helped her in the same way. Med school and being a doctor is hard on anyone, but being a mutant struggling to control their abilities is almost asking too much. Jean took everything in stride and accepted trials with grace and poise. She would come to me, and she always seemed so hesitant. She always seemed to doubt herself. To this day, I cannot figure out why. Jean was a beautiful woman. She was charming and graceful and understanding.

I don't remember the moment I began loving her, but I remember the moment I realized it. It was before we had ever admitted any feelings to each other, and she had fallen asleep on the couch in the game room, and I placed a blanket over her because she seemed cold, and she awoke. I started to apologize, but she just grabbed my hand and told me about her terrible day. I don't even remember what happened, all I know is that when she touched my hand and spoke in this broken voice and when she looked at me with those tear-filled eyes… I needed to take care of her and protect her for the rest of my life or my years would be worth nothing.

I loved her. I still do. How could I not? I could never explain why I love her, pin down an exact reason. All I would need to do is say that she was Jean. That's a good enough reason for me. I love her, and I will never stop loving her. I know I will move on someday. I'll be able to live without a broken heart. I'll know she's gone and will never come back, and it will hurt, but it won't force me to my knees. That time will come, the Professor seems so sure of it. It will come, but that time is not now.

Without Jean in the world, all things seem dim and bleak. Life itself seems lifeless. Our lives were so deeply intertwined, and without my other half, I am not whole. I feel broken. Even the red of my glasses seems colorless. I don't embrace any other reason to take another breath; Jean was my only reason to live. I was an X-Man, and I was a friend, and an older brother figure, and many other things to many other people. All of that is just details. Before anything else, I was Jean's protector and lover. Nothing came before her and what would benefit her and what would make her happy.

She was my world, to say plainly enough. My world is gone, and I don't know if I can get up tomorrow, if I fall asleep.

Not many people understand what happens when someone loses the person they love. It scrambles up all that makes us human, and it rips apart their hearts. It causes wounds that take years to heal, if they ever do. My wounds were so raw. Everything I saw reminded me of her, and it was another knife in my chest, another slash on my wrist. The pain drowned me with thoughts of her. I swear to this day she was calling my name. Her voice was so near, it was as though she was right there beside me, but it couldn't have been Jean. It was just a voice created by my grief, and I couldn't stand hearing her voice when she was dead. I couldn't stand the ripping pain that erupted whenever I inhaled. I needed… something.

I will be the first to admit that drugs have a way of taking a person and destroying them. Drugs destroyed me. For seven years, I was locked in their hold, and I began to hate them as easily as I hated myself for not saving Jean. I could have saved her. I'm still convinced that there could have been a way. I could have acted differently. It was thoughts like these that I desperately tried to stifle. Every time a needle would pierce my skin and deliver a distraction, I would be free until the drug left my system. The cycle repeated until my body couldn't live without cocaine like my heart and soul couldn't live without Jean.

I was a mess. Shooting up, drinking, smoking anything I could get my hands on, sleeping around… I was once an admired man, being the X-Men leader that I was. I appeared to have a good life. Not perfect, but good. Well-respected, a good teacher, great rapport with my students, a beautiful fiancée, a wedding in the near future… my future was set, and then it was ripped from me. For that, I wanted to hate Jean for taking everything I had worked so hard for away from me, but that's senseless. She saved me. I betrayed her by taking that chance and throwing it away. I'm lucky that I was given yet another chance, one I didn't deserve. I didn't deserve the first chance, anyway.

It's almost inevitable… I think of Jean, and then I think of Logan. The thought of their flirtation makes me burn with anger. At Logan, of course. I was almost systematically driving Jean away. I haven't been honest. I didn't always put her first. I didn't always care about her first. She was lucky if she came second in my mind. She was always first in my heart, though. If a choice came between the X-Men and Jean, I would have picked Jean, hands down. I'm not sure if that's the "right" decision, but I would have chosen Jean. She's all that matters, at the end of the day. I can only pray that she knew that.

Anyway, my anger at Logan. I'm not usually a very territorial man. If the students or Jean were threatened, then I am very dangerous, but when it came to Jean and I as a couple, I trusted her. I trusted that even if she was attracted to another man or even flirted with him, she would come to bed with me at night. She would sit next to me. I can't find the insecurity to even question if her mind was elsewhere. I know it wasn't, because emotionally cheating was not like her. If she had wanted Logan seriously, then she would have left me. She was a direct woman.

Knowing that she was never too serious about him, I can only find fault in Logan. She wore my ring on her finger. She hardly ever took it off. That alone was a sign she was taken by another man, but we were always together at the mansion, working together or simply being a couple. But Logan overstepped his boundaries. Jean had done nothing but care for him, and he used his good looks and roguish charm to attempt to steal her away from me. Logan is not an evil man. He has never been such. But I am not so forgiving.

He kissed Jean. He _kissed_ her. My memories are still poisoned by the thought of them together. Had she enjoyed it? Did she respond in her mind, if not physically? If she had not chosen to die, would she have left me? As for the last question, I doubt it. I am eternally blessed to have been the only one she spoke to before her death. Though it was the Professor speaking, I could only hear her voice. She told me she loved me. Her mind brushed mine moments before her life was snuffed out. I remember that small loving touch on the edges of my consciousness and it fills me with warmth.

She chose me. She had only ever chosen me. It's comforting.

Professor Charles Xavier… I am forever in his debt for all that he has done for me. He took me in, from off the street. I was this scrawny kid who stole whatever he could get his hands on just to survive, and such a sophisticated man took a chance on me. He gave me a home, and everything I needed. He didn't treat me like a parasite because beams shot out of my eyes. He always had a kind word ready and a supportive smile to flash. He gave me a family. He became my father when I had no one to turn to. Now, years later, when I was broken and close to destruction and in need of help, he tended to me and is doing his best to help me. Even though I hurt him, that doesn't mean anything. He is an extraordinary man. I love him.

In fact, everyone at the mansion has done something to help me. Ororo is not the least of those who have done so. She is patient and kind, and always open to forgiveness. She endures all that I can dish out, and still wants to try and understand what I'm going through. I don't deserve her as a friend. It hurts, though, to talk about what I'm going through. She's too close to my pain; whenever one thinks of Jean, they think of Ororo. They were best friends, and we were all so close in our younger years. When I see Ororo, I almost expect Jean to walk through the door and wonder if one or both of us wants to grab a greasy hamburger and rebel against what modern medicine calls healthy.

All joking aside, when I look at Logan and Ororo… I know they need each other. Perhaps not in an all-consuming way yet, but that can come later. I still feel the urge to humiliate Logan in every way possible. It's still nothing personal. When I "lash out", it's not in retaliation for what he did. If we fight, we can communicate we're fond of each other, without seeming like we tolerate each other.

Alyssa and Emily must come next. They are two of the few of my students still living at the mansion. When they were students, I thought they were both incredibly intelligent girls who had great potential. They were amusing, but in a safe way, not like Bobby and John. Emily was quiet. I see a lot of Jean in her, which twists my heart every time I think about her. In Alyssa, it's obvious that she reminds me of me. Or rather, I remind me of her. Something. We're similar. I needed someone to understand, and she's one of the few people that possibly could. I'm grateful for her, and for them both doing their best to accept me back. I must have hurt them terribly when I left.

All in all, I am a terrible human being. At least that is the way I feel when I wake up in the mornings, which leads to a craving for drugs because my pain suffocates me. This isn't easy at all, but I owe it to everyone to get through. Lately, being active around the school… I really miss teaching and leading the X-Men. I feel rather useless, though the Professor has been asking me to help plan missions. I'm not the one out there, fighting beside my comrades. They're risking their lives on some plan I came up with, and if something goes wrong, it'll be my fault, but they've been all right so far. No one's come back with anything worse than a few scratches or a burn, if they encountered the Brotherhood, and therefore, John.

I miss that kid. Sure, he made trouble a lot and hardly ever paid attention and didn't do his homework, but he wasn't a bad kid. He's quickly becoming a powerful mutant, and that worries me. He never could control his power well. He had the small basics down, but he always wanted to create an inferno and just burn all of his opponents. He never thought of strategy or finesse or mercy. He's so focused on getting revenge for all the wrong that's been done to him. I wish he hadn't left; now someone will have to make the decision to take him out or to spare him, but if mercy is given, he will use that against us.

So far the world has gone, it's… most days, it seems hopeless that humanity will ever see us as people. Some days, I don't think the persecution will ever end, and we will be fighting a losing battle. Then come the days when we seem to be on the brink of victory. The cycle continues, but one side will have to give. Magneto's getting ever more powerful, gaining more soldiers in this war of his. I suppose he's right, now. It has become a war, but he began it. It is now our duty to end it, and protect the world.

Believe it or not, I have questioned Charles' dream of peace and unity. I've wondered if it's even worth it, or if it'll be easier to simply lower ourselves to Magneto's level and just attack humans. It would be easier, but Charles knows and has convinced me that the easy way is not always the right way. It will be hard to regain the world to a peaceful state, but it will be worth it in the end.

Is my personal struggle a reflection of the fight in the world? Maybe.

Despite everything, I am going to try to remain optimistic. I will remember Jean, and love her always. I'll try not to blast Logan's head off, and I'm going to work to get clean. When I have a couple of years of sobriety underneath my belt, maybe I can start teaching again and actively leading the X-Men in the field. I think everything's going to be okay.


	14. Emily's Side

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Emily Rachery. She belongs to Coaltrain.**

"And next on Westchester five o'clock news… The mutant race strikes again, this time, attacking the Pentagon. More on this story after the weekend forecast." The bright voice of an anchorwoman announced before a Geico commercial came up on the screen.

Scott Summers sighed as he stood in the threshold of the game room, where most of the students spent their days if they weren't outside playing or up in their rooms, gossiping about the latest couple or celebrities or hanging out with their boys and doing homework. He ran his hand through his brown hair, crossing his arms over his chest. More media, accusing all mutants of being evil and always wanting to do wrong. How typical.

"Cyke, we're meeting in Chuck's office. Be there." Logan said from behind him, giving him a slight shove.

"What for?" Scott asked evenly, keeping his annoyance level down as much as he could. He wasn't in a mood to deal with Logan and all things that came with the Wolverine. Faced with thoughts of the situation between humanity and the mutant race, all of his worst emotions came out. Luckily he had sunglasses to hide most of emotions, but Jean always teased him that he had an expressive face and couldn't hide a thing. He hoped she had been just joking.

"I'm sorry, I forgot about your condition. Your one eye must have been distracted." The Wolverine replied, and then gave Scott a slight pull on the arm. "Come on, Cyke, let's go."

Cyclops considered his choices. He could turn around and give Logan a nice blast from his beams. He knew exactly how he could kill Logan, and most of the people he knew. As long as he stayed away from Logan's eyes, he would only severely injure him for a time. He could follow wordlessly and actually cooperate for one time. Or he could beat the living hell out of Logan. The first and the third were the most tempting of the lot, but the second one would prove he was the better man. He stared at Logan, almost bursting out in tears out of indecision. He wanted to hurt him so badly, just to blow off some steam. He sighed. Damn his inability to use his backbone and his guts.

"Fine." Scott fell into step beside Logan. "What do you think needs to be done?"

Logan's claws shot out, and then he sheathed them. "I don't know, Cyclops. What do you think I think needs to be done?"

"Good point." Scott eyed Logan's hands where his claws come out, an eyebrow slightly arched in amusement at his own pun.

"Shut up." Logan rolled his eyes as they reached Xavier's office, and he pushed the door open. "What's up, Chuck?"

Scott followed Logan in, and took his customary spot by the window. He leaned against the divider between two windows and watched the X-Men that were already present. Bobby and Marie were sitting on two chairs, side by side, holding hands. Marie wasn't an official field X-Men, but she did intelligence and kept satellite imagery going the entire time the X-Men were out on a mission to warn them if anything was coming their way (planes, tanks, etc). Ororo and Logan were sitting together, his hand gently touching her knee. Beast leaned against the wall across from Scott.

Scott glanced questioningly at Professor X, and he merely smiled peacefully. "They'll be here in a few moments."

As if on cue, Emily opened the door softly, smiling apologetically and embarrassedly. Alyssa followed a moment later. They walked over to the couch Logan and Ororo were sitting on, and the latter two moved slightly to make room for the younger X-Men. Scott nodded to them in greeting, and Alyssa beamed back, giving him a cheesy wink, while Emily merely smiled nervously.

"Alright, X-Men. You know why I've called you here. Mutants have attacked the Pentagon, and I suspect it is Magneto's doing. It was his planning, if not his execution. There is no security camera evidence that anyone unauthorized was ever in the building, but an entire hallway was up in flames, and most files kept in the Pentagon about mutants were destroyed. Now, the Senate is once again introducing the mutant registration act." Charles reported to them grimly.

"And now, I am worried this will simply be a repeat of our past efforts." Scott's throat suddenly had a lump in it, and his eyes were burning with the possibility of tears. He forced himself to remain calm and composed, but Ororo's eyes flicked to him quickly, giving him a look of pity and sadness. He appreciated the gesture, but he was fine. Or he would be. He didn't need anyone's pity. "What do you suggest we do, Scott?"

Scott looked up at the Professor, and then glanced around at the X-Men present. It wasn't the biggest force, and if his instincts were right, the Brotherhood had more fighters than they did. Magneto had a persuasive nature and was skilled in manipulation. He took into account that fact, along with their present strength and all of the powers of those present, plus with the possibility Warren and Kurt might join them, and tried to formulate a plan within moments.

"We have two options. We keep a close eye on them and watch their movements through Cerebro. We gather all of the intel we can, and then find them. Take the offensive. Or we take what we know about Magneto and his habits and what his plans are, and try to figure out where he will strike next." Scott explained. "Considering the possibility that Magneto has been biding his time for so long to build an army, an offensive is not in our best interest, but that would give us the element of surprise. However, simply being on defense means that we are giving them the chance to do more damage before we could get there and fight in return."

He paused, allowing his listeners to take the information in. "The number of advantages we have, though, give us the edge. We have technology that most bad guys in their evil lairs don't have the ability to acquire. We have Cerebro, and the jets. We have years of experience, while most of his fighters are new and filled with anger. If our offense is planned in an appropriate manner and we know where Magneto is, I think it could be possible to beat him. Hit and run tactics would probably be better, since our numbers are smaller. Slowly wear them down, and then when they least expect it, attack with full force." He smirked at Logan who was obviously in full favor of that idea.

"Thank you, Scott." The Professor nodded, a smile on his face. "What do the rest of you think of that? I leave the decision up to you, since you are the ones in the field." He leaned back and watched the conversation that was to follow.

"I think we need to kick their asses when they least expect it. Give them a few weeks to get cozy because it doesn't seem like we're coming at them. And then give 'em hell." Logan announced brazenly.

Bobby couldn't help the small chuckle, but sobered when Marie scoffed and swatted him. "As much as I wish I could agree, I think we need to hang back and be on defense. Like Scott said, they probably have strength in numbers, and they're all powerful mutants. We need time to plan a perfect defense and train."

"I think we need a mix of both." Marie disagreed. "We can't just wait in our safe mansion for them to do more damage, but we can't get careless about attacking either."

Alyssa glanced at Emily as the conversation continued, Hank giving his opinion, talking much about probabilities of certain scenarios happening, and what they should do in each. The dark-haired waterbender smiled at her friend, tweaking the feline ears on the top of Emily's head. Emily swiped her in return.

"What do you think, kitty-kitty?" Alyssa teased her with a grin.

"I don't think we should attack them." Emily's voice was soft and unusually tender, filled with longing and bittersweet memories.

Alyssa put a hand over her own mouth. She couldn't believe she had forgotten about John. When Pyro had been at the mansion, he hadn't been a fan favorite, but he did have his friends. He and Bobby had been the most unlikely best friends, and he was fond of Rogue as well. Alyssa, personally, had never spent much time with him, but Emily had. She and John had connected in an odd way, while they conflicted more than most people ever could. He was arrogant and haughty and taunted her. Emily usually got so mad at him she couldn't stand him if she didn't attempt to scratch up his face. He was a genuine annoyance to her, but beneath all of that, she cared deeply about him. She was the only one he would be around at times, when he was remembering his family or his own personal angst, and they had liked each other.

Alyssa wasn't like Kitty or Jubilee, who obsessed over finding out who liked who, but she wasn't blind, either. She knew that, without a doubt, her best friend had cared about John Allerdyce. She also knew for a fact that John cared about her as well. He never got anyone presents. He just didn't care enough. Not even for Bobby. But, on Emily's birthday, the book she had been eyeing for months mysteriously appeared outside of her door. It had been wrapped, but messily so, and it had no card. Emily wouldn't admit it, but Alyssa knew who it had been from. Half of the school knew as well, but they didn't want to admit that the resident badass actually might have a soft spot for someone. It meant that there was depth to him, and that was a frightening thought.

When John had not returned with Bobby and Rogue and the X-Men, it had pretty much shattered Emily's heart. She didn't stop bingeing on tuna for three days, and when she did finish, she had cried herself to sleep. While Bobby had looked sad for several weeks, sitting beside an empty spot, Emily had actually cried. Alyssa remembered one particular moment. It was the first day back in classes after Dr. Grey's funeral. They had a substitute for both Dr. Grey and Mr. Summers' classes (he had mysteriously disappeared the day after the X-Men had returned), and Emily had seen the spot John usually occupied, flicking his lighter on and off. She had run out of the classroom, and Alyssa had followed her into the girls' bathroom.

"_Emily?" Alyssa asked softly, pushing the door open. "Are you okay?" _

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Emily wiped the tears from her face quickly as she looked up. "Why do you ask?"_

"_Oh, come on, Ems." Alyssa plopped down beside her on the tile floor. "Talk to me."_

_Emily sighed, scratching behind her ears absentmindedly. "I really miss him, Lyssa. I mean, yeah, I had a crush on him, but despite being such a mean jerk… he could actually be nice sometimes. I know it's so wrong to like the jerk because he had so much wrong with him, emotionally… but I saw his good side, and he was sweet. One time, we were on the bus in town, and some guys were making fun of my ears. It really hurt, and John was sitting next to me, and he stood up and threatened the guys for me. It didn't work, they only made fun of him for liking bestiality, but it was the thought." She sighed. "Maybe it was because he's obsessed with mutants being superior, but I'd like to think he did it for me."_

_Alyssa put an arm around Emily and sighed. "I think he did it for you. Honestly, I didn't like John much, simply because I didn't know him. But I saw the way he acted around everyone else, and the way he acted around you. He liked you, Ems. Whether as a friend or something else, he liked you. He may have liked to tease you, but it was just for his own stupid amusement. He always cared about you." _

"_Really? Because I really miss him. I just can't believe he went with Magneto! I thought he was just ready to be an adult and not have to rely on Professor Xavier for everything." Emily sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve._

"_Yeah, really. I don't know what to say, but he chose his side, and it's not really comforting, but just know that he's not all bad, and there's always a chance he'll come back." Alyssa told her firmly._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Oh yeah. I mean, Xavier let his jerkface in once, I'm sure he'll put up with it again." Alyssa grinned, standing up and helping her feline friend up as well. "Come on, the sub will be pissed. It'll be great."_

"_Oh no…"_

_Alyssa cheerily threw an arm around Emily and walked with her back to class. _

Alyssa knew Emily still missed John, and had always wondered how this would play out, when the Brotherhood and the X-Men would face off in battle. It had only seemed like a weird daydream at the time, since she had never been in a real fight. She'd gone to rescue mutants from the street with an older X-Man, but the small combat she'd seen then didn't count at all.

"Are you going to be okay? You know you don't have to go." Alyssa assured Emily with a small smile.

"I'll be okay, and I do have to go. I'm an X-Man. Its what we do." Emily reminded her friend. "But thanks."

"Course."

With that, they both turned their attention back to the main conversation.

"It seems we have a general consensus that we need to prepare for both offensive and defensive. Scott, what do you propose we do?" Xavier turned the leadership back over to the ex-field leader of the X-Men.

Behind his glasses, Scott nearly glowed at being asked for his opinion that might decide the direction in which the X-Men would go. It gave him purpose and meaning to being at the mansion, instead of him just hiding from the world.

"We constantly watch through Cerebro and more traditional methods for any signs of Magneto. We let him attack a few smaller places, watching for trends. I can't say right now where he will go. It's been a long time, and he's changing his tactics. He's being subtler, and probably using Mystique as a main pawn. We also train harder and prepare for the inevitable combat. Training everyday would be my recommendation, and as a team, as well. We are all skilled, but we aren't skilled enough together." Scott mentally went over his list of things they would need. "Professor, are Warren and Kurt in the area? Having them here would be a great asset."

"I'm sure they both would be willing to assist us in any way possible. Warren, as I recall, is visiting New York in a few days for business and is planning on visiting. We can talk to him then. As for Kurt, he is in Germany, but I will call him."

"Call?" Logan asked, an eyebrow raised.

"You know what I mean." Charles chuckled, amused. "Thank you all for coming. Shall we train tomorrow at four, when classes are finished?" Everyone murmured their assent, and slowly began to trickle out.

Scott approached Charles' desk. "Professor, I was wondering if I might join the team again. And be out on the field. I can't stand being here when they will be out there risking their lives with a plan that I designed." He requested quietly.

"We will see. Your body still needs to rest and heal, but we can ask Hank in a week's time about your progress. I know you need to be out there, but I want you to be completely sure that you are ready. I do not doubt your skills or strength, I am only worried for your mind." Professor X kept his voice low as well, knowing Scott would not want his personal struggles advertised across the mansion. Most knew of why he was back, but out of respect, it was not openly talked about.

Scott struggled with himself and his rising anger. "Very well." He answered evenly, biting his inner cheek to remain respectful. He forced a smile and then stormed out to burn off his anger in the Danger Room.

Alyssa turned around when she realized Emily wasn't following her out. "You coming?" She asked over her shoulder.

"Yeah, in a bit. I'll meet you in the game room." Emily promised, smiling.

Alyssa nodded, and then left to gather her things for their study session.

Emily waited until Dr. McCoy, Bobby and Marie left, nodding to each of them, and then turned to Professor Xavier. "Um, Professor, I was wondering if I could ask you something." She asked, blushing slightly in nervousness.

"Of course, Emily. What do you need?" Charles leaned forward and intertwined his fingers, a welcoming and comforting smile on his lips.

"Well… Alyssa told me before she talked to Mr. Summers, and I'm really glad she did. I think she really helped him, and that made her feel really good because she really, really looks up to him. But… I want to talk to him…" She paused, and her voice dropped to a soft whisper. "And I kind of know what he's going through, with Dr. Grey, sort of."

Professor Xavier considered her proposal and then smiled. "Emily, I think it would mean a lot to him if you took a chance and talked to him. He might react in a… less than savory way, but he will appreciate the effort. I think you could get to him in a way no one else can."

Emily bit her lip and looked down at the professor. "Really? I mean, I haven't gotten through drugs or anything, and I never lost my fiancé. I don't really know what he's going through." She sat down, her legs slightly wobbly from the thought of actually talking about her problems with her former teacher who was going through so much worse. It seemed almost cruel to assume she knew the kind of pain from which he was suffering.

"Emily, Scott and Jean were best friends first. They were very close. You know what it's like to lose your best friend." His eyebrows raised slightly, as she sighed, looking down at her lap. "And you lost someone you cared deeply about."

Emily bit her lip. "I need to go." She stood up quickly, almost overturning the chair.

"Very well." Professor Xavier nodded. "I think it would benefit you both if you at least let him know. Scott does hold you in high regard, you know."

Emily blushed slightly. She wasn't one of the million girls who only took math classes so she could check out Mr. Summers' backside when he turned around to write on the board, but she had looked up to him. They were remarkably similar. They both had obvious mutations and couldn't go out into public without getting strange looks. The thought a teacher held her in high esteem made her so embarrassed she needed to go throw herself into her studies with Alyssa and talk about it.

She smiled at Professor Xavier in farewell and fled out the door, meeting up with Alyssa for their study session. They ended up quitting two hours later, around seven-thirty PM and went to the kitchen for tuna (Emily, of course) and brownies (both of them).

**XXX**

Emily sat at the kitchen island, enjoying her tuna and brownies, her eyes wide and awake, bright with the thoughts that were consuming her attention. She had consulted Alyssa, her best friend, about her conviction to talk to Mr. Summers. Alyssa had been enthusiastic, urging her to do so, and ranting on about how Emily's story would be so good for him to hear before she left, complaining of tiredness and the need to email the new friend she'd met in a class.

Emily normally trusted Alyssa's opinion above all others, and did so in this incident as well. She simply didn't know how she would approach Mr. Summers. He wasn't exactly the most social person. He was spending more time with the rest of the school, participating in game night, basketball games, and a few field trips, though he wasn't an official teacher, and had informed the X-Men he wouldn't be until he and Xavier agreed it would be a benefit, instead of a detriment, for all parties involved.

Emily did see him outside of X-Men training sessions and meetings, but even then, she avoided him as discreetly as he could. She didn't know how to talk to him, since he was still so broken up over the pain he'd experienced. She was mostly afraid. Not of him, but of herself. She might accidentally hurt him with some off-hand, stupid remark that she didn't mean. She didn't want to take that chance.

She sat there, sighing over her tuna and brownies, before stuffing a brownie topped with tuna into her mouth, chewing. She left her stool and walked over to the refrigerator. She leaned in to grab a small carton of half-and-half, shifting the ever-popular chocolate milk aside to retrieve it.

"Emily, could you grab me the milk?" Scott's voice came from the kitchen.

Emily was halfway to pulling out the carton of half-and-half, and then jumped. Her ears were sensitive, and her nose recognized most people's scents, but she hadn't heard or smelled him approaching. She gave a small squeak as the half-and-half spilled all over the floor, and quickly bent over, picking up the carton to rescue it.

Scott smiled gently, and took several towels from a drawer and helped her to clean up the spilled milk. They worked in silence, Emily's cheeks stained red from embarrassment and Scott masterfully ignoring her humiliation without seeming to be doing so. Soon, the messed was cleaned up and the towels were in the hamper in the laundry room. Scott got the milk from the fridge and poured a glass for himself. He brought her a glass for her half-and-half and sat next to her at the island.

"What's on your mind, Emily?" Scott asked casually, leaving the question open for all sorts of answers.

Emily looked down at the half-and-half she was enjoying, and suddenly lost her thirst. Her nerves bloomed in her stomach and she fought to contain it. She was an adult now, she shouldn't be consumed with anxiety when she needed to do something important. That was one of the many reasons she wished she could be more like Alyssa. Alyssa had the ability to assert herself and get what needed to be done finished. Emily was always frightened. Scaredy-cat. How oddly true.

"Are you okay?" His soft voice came again, and he turned to completely face her.

"I need to talk to you." Emily blurted out.

"Okay." Scott abandoned his milk and turned his full attention to her.

Emily took this moment to observe him. She didn't remember seeing him so casually dressed before, except when there was an emergency late at night back when he was a teacher. He was wearing light blue pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, obviously having been getting ready for bed and then decided to get a glass of milk to help him to sleep. Emily had been unaware that people actually got milk to help them get drowsy. He was wearing his regular glasses, and it was always unnerving to talk to someone whose eyes you couldn't see.

"Well, I wouldn't ever pretend to know what you feel. I've never done drugs, and I've never lost someone I loved, except my grandfather, but I was six at the time and hardly remember him." Emily realized she was babbling and forced her shut up and get to the point. "Anyway… well, I guess I wanted to share my story with you, since Alyssa did." She took a deep breath and gulped down some half-and-half, hoping it would settle her stomach. It did no such thing.

"You see, my best friend ever was named Blake. We got along so well, and we did everything together during our childhood. We were almost like a dynamic duo, except he was always the outgoing one, and I pretty much only tagged along, but we were best friends. I loved him like a brother." She took a deep shuddering breath, closing her eyes. "One night, we went to see a movie, after my mutation had manifested. Someone saw my ears, and tried to hurt me. Blake… he jumped to my defense and tried to fight the guy off. The guy hit him against a wall, against the ground… when the guy lost interest and the police came, he was… he was bleeding. There was so much blood." Emily's stomach turned at the memory.

"He died later that night. The doctor pronounced him at 10:34 PM." Her lower lip trembled, but she kept her tears in. Her voice didn't stop shaking, though. "I didn't know how to get through without my best friend. He was my **best friend**. I miss him so much. I have Alyssa, and I love her too, but she could never replace Blake, and she knows this. Blake, I think, was the only one who ever really understood me because he knew me before and after my mutation, and how he treated me never changed, except he liked to pull on my tail sometimes." She smiled slightly at the thought.

"Anyway, Mr. Summers… I know losing someone you love hurts, but losing Dr. Grey hurts more than me losing Blake, but I know it still hurts. I guess I just want you to know you're not alone or whatever." Emily dropped her eyes down to the counter, tracing the tile, embarrassed.

Scott sat, propping his elbow up on the counter, a confused look on his face. "Wow, Emily. I had no idea." His voice was quiet and astonished. "Thank you for telling me." He gave her an appreciative smile, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "So… you've come to terms with losing Blake?"

"Yeah." Emily admitted. "It took years, but I realized that he was gone and he wasn't coming back, but I still had a life to live, and so I'm living it in his memory."

Scott nodded, digesting this information. "But there's something else." He stated.

Emily nodded, deep sorrow entering her eyes. "It's… well, I'm an X-Man, so I'm going with the team whenever and wherever we need to fight. But we're going to be going against the Brotherhood, and…" She paused, and Scott knew the answer. He didn't voice it, giving her time to collect her composure. "It's John."

She sighed, tapping her finger gently against the island in nervousness. "We were friends when he was at school. He was an absolute jerk, even to me. There really wasn't an exception, but he was still my friend, and I think I was his friend too. I really cared about him, Mr. Summers. I know he did too. He never buys presents, but he gave me a book on my birthday. He never admitted to it, but I know it was him. Part of the wrapping was burnt." She giggled slightly.

"Anyway… I'm just worried that when we fight, I'll have to fight him, and I don't think I can do that. He's part of the Brotherhood, I know, and they're our opponents. I'm a dedicated X-Man, but I just couldn't fight him. Maybe he never cared about me, and would be willing to exploit all of my weaknesses, but I cared about him. I could never hurt him." Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she was finding it hard to continue.

"I understand how you feel." Scott admitted. "He was my student, and if I'm able to join you in the field, I don't know if I'll have the ability to fight him. If I was forced to, I would, but I would ever have mercy on him. He'll always be this mean-hearted boy who never did homework, but seemed to get by somehow." He chuckled at the memories that flooded through his mind. "We'll be alright. Emily, I don't know if he's hardened himself through the years, but if he still thinks of you the same way, he would never injure you." Scott felt slightly bad; he wasn't entirely sure, but he felt the intense need to comfort her.

"Thanks, Mr. Summers." Emily voiced her gratitude, and Scott nodded.

"Anytime." He gave her shoulder another gentle squeeze. "Are you going to be okay?"

Emily laughed tearfully, holding in her sobs. "I should be asking you that, I meant to try to help you feel better."

"You did." Scott told her seriously. "I'm still an anal leader at heart, and I need to know I can do things to help my teammates. If I can't, then I'm useless." He nodded to her. "You gave me a chance to do something positive, and I managed to do it. That helps me more than any sort of therapy could." He gave her a stunning heartfelt smile. "I'll see you tomorrow for training. Good luck in class."

"Thanks." She called after him, turning back to her brownies to find one missing, but her tuna was untouched. "Oh, he's going to get it."

Emily made a promise to herself that she'd somehow swipe Scott tomorrow. He should know better! You never take a girl's brownies unless you want to die, or get seriously injured. Men would never learn. She huffed and finished her snack, and then went to bed.


	15. A Fight and a Flicker of Hope

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Emily Rachery.**

Scott wasn't sure why, but he was sitting on a chair in the game room, suffering through a High School Musical movie marathon, waiting for Warren Worthington or Kurt Wagner to arrive at the school and, therefore, rescue him. All of the girls were fawning over "Corbin Bleu" and "Zac Efron". Scott valued his life enough to never admit it aloud, but he didn't think all of these kids were too impressive. He wisely kept his mouth shut and stared at the TV screen, pretending to be interested as he kept an eye on the kids. Several girls looked like they had been dragged into watching the movies while their friends were nearly drooling. He thought back to his time as a teenager; Ororo and Jean had always been very sensible, and only indulged in staring at hot guys when it was absolutely necessary. Or just to make him and Warren feel awkward.

However, he'd never really minded when Jean subtly checked him out. His ego had shot through the roof like no one's business.

He felt his heart sink into his stomach as he tried to stop the flow of memories. It was hard to remember all of the times he and Jean had flirted and checked each other out when they had thought the other wasn't aware of it. It was the small memories like this that stung him at the worst times, when he was trying to adjust back into being a real part of the school. It was difficult to be in a room without being able to point out several things that reminded him of Jean. It was getting easier to bear during the day, but at night, she was all he thought about. With the risk of sounding like a girl, he usually cried himself to sleep.

Yet if Scott focused on the young faces around him, he found some measure of comfort. He was doing something for them and enriching their lives which otherwise would be torturous. Things still hadn't changed; it was still considered shameful to be a mutant. He never quite understood it. All of these kids had great potential, they were all very intelligent, and were working on becoming adults to join the world. It hurt to think that there were those that would intentionally hurt these children simply because they were in some way different than the rest of the world, but that was how society worked at the moment.

A car rolled up in the driveway, and two young teenage girls rushed to the window to see who their visitor was. "It's MR. WORTHINGTON!" They squealed, giving girlish shrieks.

Scott stood up, and instead of being relieved that his old friend had finally come to rescue him from High School Musical 2, he felt dread and fear. What would Warren think of him? Would there be some animosity, or would Warren even be ashamed of him? Scott's legs managed to carry him over to the front door, but he didn't open it. He turned around and saw Ororo walking down the hallway.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to, Scott. I can take him to the Professor." She assured him with a smile. "You two can talk when the time comes. Go." She gave him a small push, and he smiled gratefully.

"Thank you." He merely said, and then took another look out of a nearby window. Warren was approaching the door, impeccably dressed in an Armani business suit. His flawless blonde hair was pulled back in a stylish ponytail.

Scott felt indescribable anger boil underneath the surface of his skin at Warren. He didn't bother to attempt and interpret this feeling; all he knew was that he could not stand around while Warren was near until he found some sort of release. Somewhere in the recesses of the rational mind he still possessed through his anger knew Warren did not deserve his anger, so he needed to vent it elsewhere. He turned around and stormed away, taking the elevator to the basements.

He found Logan there, already dressed and about ready to enter the Danger Room. Scott faced him, his face emotionless. "Give me five minutes. Set the session to a blank one. I need to beat the shit out of someone."

Logan raised an eyebrow, but did as Scott asked and waited for Cyclops to return. Scott only took two minutes to get ready, dressing in a spare X-Men suit and putting his visor on. He looked at himself in the mirror. The suit fit as well as a spare might, and the visor still fit. He looked like Cyclops again, the leader of the X-Men. He didn't feel a rush of pride. He didn't feel any emotions. It was like looking at someone else in the mirror when one should be seeing themselves. It was as though whoever was staring back at him was a complete stranger.

Scott tore himself away from the mirror in the locker room, and met Logan in front of the Danger Room. They entered together, and the room stayed as the white, blank canvas it was when not in use. Scott glanced around, and then decided he didn't care. Logan had a healing factor. He would be great as a punching bag.

"So, what's with you now, Cyke?" Logan asked, settling into a fighting position.

Scott didn't move into any sort of stance. He stood straight and tall and waited for Logan to attack. "None of your business, Wolverine." He growled, keeping himself in check.

Logan rolled his eyes, and moved closer to Scott, in the slow, torturous way of a predator. Scott didn't move. He wasn't intimidated by Logan's predatory ways. Cyclops was tempted to blast Logan against the wall, but it wouldn't provide the kind of release he needed. Giving up with his strong, silent leader façade, Scott leapt into action. Moving so quickly his legs and fists were merely blurs, he smashed every limb against Logan with as much power as he possessed.

"Are you worried Worthington will replace you as the prettiest?" Logan asked offhandedly as he aimed a fist directly at Scott's nose.

Scott ducked, the senseless rage that had possessed him earlier subsiding. He was still angry, but he wasn't about to be careless. He grabbed Logan's forearm and threw the Wolverine over his shoulder, retreating to the other side of the room so he would be out of range. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart was pounding, and he didn't remember ever feeling so free. Logan wouldn't be killed by his efforts. The only one in danger was Scott. The freedom to do whatever he needed to do gave his arms and legs new strength and his head spun from the high of attacking, defending, hitting and receiving blows.

"I'm worried Warren, one of my oldest friends, will hate me and never wish to speak to me. His life is completely in order, while I'm trying my hardest just to _**survive**_ every day I wake up to." Scott hissed as Logan pushed himself up.

"You think Warren actually would do that?" Logan asked, a laugh in his voice and his arrogant eyebrow cocked.

Cyclops promised himself that someday, he would rip that eyebrow off, or pay Ricky and Taylor to wax it when Logan slept. One of the two, the eyebrow would be gone before too long. "What else am I supposed to believe?"

Logan and Scott circled each other, Logan throwing several punches which Scott dodged, except for the last one, which caught Cyclops heavily in the gut. He had hardened his abdominal muscles before Logan's adamantium fist smashed into them, but it wasn't close to enough. He doubled over, falling to his knees.

"Come on, Cyclops. One hit enough to get you down?" Logan teased him, smirking.

Logan's back hit the floor, and he groaned. Scott's legs had shot out, striking the back of Logan's knees. In a blurred motion, Scott had leapt to his feet and drove his elbow into the Wolverine's chest, forcing him to lose the little balance he had left and sent him crashing into the floor.

The fight raged on for several more hours, each consumed with their own thoughts and frustrations, taking out on each other that which they wished they could do to the ones they had been hurt by. Finally, Scott was beaten into complete submission. He laid on the floor, downed by Logan's last punch to the face, unable to move. Logan didn't find much amusement at the sight of the broken man, though he might have, at one time. He knelt down beside Scott and helped him to his feet, taking one of Scott's arms and putting it around his neck. Together, they limped down the hallway to the med-bay.

Hank looked up when the door opened and Logan entered, helping along a bloodied and bruised Scott. He shook his head in amusement as he found his bandages, antiseptic cream and ice packs.

"Logan, what did you do to my patient?" Hank asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Punk got a little too uppity. Had to bring him down a few notches." Logan explained, leaning against the wall. "I'll see you later, Scott." He nodded to his opponent, who would have smiled back, but his lips were too swollen, so they merely twitched.

Scott sat quietly as Hank bandaged him up, refusing to even hiss when the doctor put germ-killing concoctions on the cuts that resulted from Logan's claws. The great blue doctor gave him a t-shirt and jeans to change into, and a pair of crutches for his sore and bruised legs. Scott managed to change without help, and then leaned gratefully on the crutches.

"Thanks, Hank." Scott smiled as best as he could.

"Anytime, but next time, make sure you give Logan at least a few marks." Hank teased him, quickly checking Cyclops' pupils for a concussion.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll see what I can do." Scott muttered darkly.

"You should probably go to bed and lay down. I'll send someone up with a plate when dinner's ready." Hank told him, looking over Scott's chart, marking down the latest news. "But other than that, you're absolutely fine. Those bruises are rather remarkable."

"Thanks." Scott groaned, rolling his eyes, as he turned his torso, heading out of the medlab, leaning heavily on the crutches.

Though bruised and in pain as he was, Scott had never felt better, emotionally. He had taken everything he had out on Logan, punching and kicking and blasting, as if Logan was a physical manifestation of the reason he was in pain. His heart felt light in his chest, and it didn't bring a wave of heartache with each beat. His head ached from slamming against the floor several times, but he was no longer burdened with thoughts of Jean. She was still on the edge of his mind; that hadn't changed. As of the current moment, she wasn't consuming him, and neither was his pain.

**XXX**

It was nearly midnight, and the hunter was on the prowl. Every small sound alerted his keen ears, drawing him into the shadows that surrounded him like a cloak. His bare feet were quiet on the carpeted floor as he advanced towards his quarry. His heart was thumping in his chest at a normal pace; this was a familiar hunt, one he had perfected over time.

Oh yes. Scott Summers was ducking through the darkened hallways of Xavier's School, searching for a midnight snack of brownies.

His stomach had been growling for a good fifteen minutes while he had been trying to toss and turn himself to sleep. He had left his room, swearing underneath his breath and cursing the fact it was nearly impossible for him to actually sleep at night. Either it was memories of Jean, random needs to go to the kitchen and eat food, or lingering cravings. His body wasn't so much crying out in need for cocaine, but his mind was. He still felt as though he was sinking in all of the things he needed to do. He loved having responsibility. He loved being needed, but sometimes it felt as though it was too much for him, but he never complained. He couldn't. Complaining was for the weak, and those who have nothing better to do. He was not weak, and he had important things to do.

Scott found his way to the kitchen that was completely dark. He let out a sigh, relieved. Some of the newer students found it hard to sleep at night as well, and he'd become something of a confidant, simply listening to their stories and to their problems and he'd offer them what advice he could. Tonight, however… he needed to be alone with his memories.

He took a small bottle of chocolate milk and sat at the kitchen island, leaning against his elbows that were propped up on the granite island top. He sighed, not bothering to open the milk. Closing his eyes tightly, he rubbed them before he allowed his memories to come.

It was difficult to be in the mansion without her. It was difficult to _breathe_ without her. There was a sharp, jagged hole in his stomach, no matter what time of day it was. As long as he was without her, or something that would cover up the wound, he would always feel the pain of her absence.

He had always wondered about death. He had assumed it was simply a void, where your body is placed in the earth and you are simply… no more. He thought it was a time of rest. He had hoped that perhaps you would meet all of the people that meant the most to you. That had given him much comfort as a young boy; he would get to see his parents and brother again, no matter what happened to him in life. Now, he was terrified of death. What if there was no afterlife and he would never see Jean again? What if he would be sent to hell? It made sense that he would go to hell, considering the horrible acts he'd committed. They had all been good ideas at the time, but now he was seeing how wrong he had been. But Jean… she would have never gone to hell.

Scott had never been a believer in anything. He found it hard to believe that a deity would allow such things to happen to its creations, but Jean had always believed in God. Though she was not convinced about some things, she believed, and he had admired her for that ability. She had been sure he would figure out his own heart in his own time, so she had never pushed him, just as she had never pushed him for marriage.

Scott found himself afraid as he sat there underneath the dim lighting of the kitchen, staring at the countertop, wondering if there was life after death. He had seen a lot of death as an X-Man. He had caused a lot of death. He knew that if he had to do what he had done over, he would have made the same choices because his decisions had saved his friends' lives, but he still wondered. He closed his eyes, blocking out the red world.

All he truly wanted was to know that Jean was safe and taken care of because he wasn't with her. He wanted to be sure that someone else was protecting her when he was unable to do so, and if he had that information, he would forever be in the debt of Jean's current protector. His hands felt so cold as he looked down at them; they felt so empty without her hand in their grasp. His body felt so cold at night, no matter how many blankets he piled on, without her body beside him. The world felt so bleak and hopeless without her beautiful smile to light up a room. His world wasn't simply empty. He didn't have a world, because his world had been swept underneath the waves of water at Alkali Lake.

Scott sighed, staring at the chocolate milk near his left elbow. He got up and put it back into the refrigerator. He wanted those brownies. He should have known better than to steal one from Emily. She and Alyssa probably had them all hoarded up in one of their rooms. He was tempted to slam his head against the wall, except his cheekbones were still bruised, and his head still ached from the fight. He wasn't sure how he was still standing. He had looked at his reflection after his shower, and his body was one mass of black and blue. It was a miracle nothing had been broken.

He went to the cabinets, but then heard a soft voice, and the gentle whisper of the wind snaking through a small crack between the back door and it's threshold. Scott turned around, his hand on the frames of his sunglasses, but his heart rate calmed when he recognized the German accent, realizing Kurt must have arrived sometime while he was resting in his room.

He walked over to the door and, instead of pulling it shut to give Kurt privacy, he left the warmth of the mansion for the chill of the night. Scott crossed his arms over his chest to preserve some warmth; he was only clad in his most comfortable black sweats and a t-shirt. He gave Kurt a friendly smile when the blue-skinned mutant looked up.

"Oh, Mr. Summers, I did not realize you were there. Forgive me." Kurt gave him a tentative smile, unsure of Scott's reaction.

Scott shook his head. "No, it's fine. If anything, I'm sorry for disturbing you." He almost flushed with embarrassment when he saw the rosary Kurt had clutched in his hands, and turned to leave.

"Mr. Summers, I was vondering…" Kurt trailed off, getting Scott's attention once more.

"Yes?" Scott turned around, curious.

"I was vondering if I might pray for you. The professor was kind enough to explain why you vere back. He did not give many details, but he mentioned Miss Grey. I know the loss of someone very close is painful, and I wish to pray for you." Kurt's voice was soft in the cold night, and Scott's eyes stung with tears.

He had never believed. He had thought about looking for religion over the years, but had never seen a reason to. However, there was a note of real compassion, real love, and real sorrow in Kurt's voice, something he had never heard before. Kurt did not know all of the details of Scott's struggle, but he cared enough, simply because Scott was a person, to feel grief for him. This struck Scott as very profound.

"Why would you do that?" Scott's voice was suddenly very hoarse as he was close to tears, and he couldn't pin down the reason why.

"Because," Kurt smiled gently at Scott. "Often we cannot see vhy God allows life to be so difficult. I pray for strength and wisdom, and that I might see his vill, and where he wishes me to go. I would pray that you vould see God's will for you, and that you would hear his voice. He calls to us, and sometimes we cannot hear because we are taunted by voices of our pasts."

Scott nodded dumbly, unable to respond. All words were stuck in his throat; no matter what came to his mind, he could not verbalize it. He wondered if Kurt also had telepathic ability. It was impossible that he had known exactly what to say to him, except Kurt was no psychic. How, then? How could he possibly know the words that would encourage him, or whatever was going on in his heart?

"Are you all right, Mr. Summers?" The Nightcrawler inquired.

"… I don't know, Kurt." He replied, his words coming out mechanically, as though they had been scripted. "How did you…?"

"I do not know everything." Kurt assured him. "I am merely a mutant. But God sees all, and knows all. He knows you are not yet ready for him to reveal himself. So, he uses others. I am fortunate enough to be used by him." He nodded humbly.

Scott's legs no longer supported him, so he fell backwards onto an outdoor chair. He stared blankly at Kurt, still numb. It seemed impossible. It had to be impossible. "You heard… God?" He asked incredulously.

"In a fashion." Kurt explained. "I looked up and saw you, and remembered the professor's words, that you had returned, merely looking for shelter. I don't know what you have gone through, and I would never pretend to. But I felt an urge to tell you that there are those praying."

"I don't believe in prayer." Scott stated calmly.

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "Many people do not believe in God, but that does not mean he is any less real."

Scott nodded and stood up. "I need to get some sleep." He murmured in farewell, and quickly sought his bed, forgetting all about his need for brownies.

When he woke up, the tears stains still hadn't faded from his face.


	16. The Brotherhood

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.**

Logan picked up the tray he had carefully prepared in the kitchen, precariously balancing a pitcher of orange juice on top, near the sandwiches that looked ready to fall apart because they were stuffed with so many delicious ingredients. The weight was no problem, though the tray seemed to groan in protestation of the amount of food piled on it. It was trying to weave his way through the hallways without being accosted, asked who the food was for, or keeping some of the more mischievous kids from stealing what was on the tray. He growled as quietly as he could, so he wouldn't scare any of the kids, but he honestly believed that a little fear never hurt anyone.

He finally made it to his destination: Ororo's classroom. She didn't have any classes at the moment, since it was time for lunch, but he knew she was still in there, preparing for her next lesson. He admired her devotion, but sometimes it was like she forgot she needed to take care of herself and relax. Now that they were formally dating, the Wolverine had taken the task of getting her to relax upon himself. This, bringing her meals to her, was one of the many ways.

Logan was actually pulling out all of the stops he could think of for her. Bringing her food, buying her an article of clothing she told him she planned on buying for herself, sending her to get a facial or something equally girly… he was doing all he could. Why? He had asked himself many times his reasoning behind his actions. It wasn't that he expected anything out of her. He respected her, and would never attempt to coerce her into sex. However, it worried him deeply when she was up all night, trying to figure out lesson plans and X-Men business. She wouldn't listen on those rare occasions, and Logan knew he could never change her mind if she was set on something, so when those all-nighters came along, he went out and bought them an expensive bag of coffee and stayed up with her.

The only answer he could come up with was that he cared about her, and if it was in his power to make her feel better or ease her load, even if it was just for a moment, a minute or an hour, then he would do it. She was so focused on making everyone else's life better, and his life was made better when she let him do things to make her life better.

Logan balanced the tray on one hand, quickly opening the door to Ororo's classroom. He gave her a warm smile in greeting, and then set the tray down on her desk. "Hey 'Ro." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips gently. "Working hard?"

"Yes." She replied, running a hand through her hair, obviously stressed out. Logan didn't need a keen sense of smell to tell that. Every small nuance in her body language screamed it. "Oh, Logan, you're so sweet." She touched his hand, smiling at him. "Thank you." 

"No problem." He shrugged off her thanks, slightly embarrassed that she was so pleased with such a simple act.

"Anything new?" Ororo asked casually, biting into her sandwich and pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

Logan shook his head. "No, I don't anything's changed, except Cyke's locked himself in one of the small computer labs. He has a list of every move Magneto's made in the last ten years, and a list of all anti-mutant buildings. He's been in there for hours, trying to figure out what Magneto's doing." He sighed. "I don't think he'll get anywhere. Magneto's doing something different, I can feel it." He shuddered, sitting down

Ororo stood up, half of a fresh sandwich in her hand. She moved over to him and wrapped her free arm around his neck. She placed herself in his lap, the sandwich near his lips. "You look exhausted, Logan. You need to rest as well." Her voice was light with gentle concern, but her eyes had darkened at the mention of Scott overworking himself. "That's… Scott as usual. I'm worried for him too." Her voice failed her, and she looked down at the floor.

Logan accepted the sandwich, taking a bite to satisfy her. He wasn't quite that hungry, considering the two sandwiches he'd eaten while making her meal. He put the half-sandwich down on the tray and wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her close.

"I know you are, 'Ro. He and I… had a conversation," Logan glossed over the fact he and Scott had come close to beating the life out of each other flawlessly. Ororo had seen the giant bruise that had taken over the left side of Cyke's face, but she had believed Scott when he'd explained saying he had been playing basketball and had fallen hard. "Couple days ago, when Wings and Kurt came. He's just doing it to feel useful around here. He misses being the leader. Tight ass." He muttered underneath his breath.

Ororo swatted him gently on the shoulder, but knew he was just joking. "I just don't want him to overwhelm himself." She defended herself. "I mean, he gets that huge bruise from just basketball."

Logan managed to refrain from sniggering in sick, sadistic pleasure. "I think you should first make sure you don't get overwhelmed. I know you're worried about Magneto, and about Cyke, and about everything, but you need to let some things go."

Ororo sighed, leaning her forehead against Logan's. "I know. It's hard." She replied softly.

Logan turned his face upward and kissed her. "I know. Come on, you need to eat." He let her walk back to her seat and began eating.

Their conversation turned light and playful as they flirted back and forth. Even the weather mirrored how Logan's presence changed Ororo's mood. The sky had been overcast, though dry. The clouds had mysteriously moved west, and some sun was peeking through the slow to move puffs of water vapor.

The door opened, and Logan looked over his shoulder. Alyssa poked her head in. "Sorry, Logan, Miss Munroe, but the Professor sent me to get you, Logan. You and Mr. Summers are off somewhere." She shrugged at Logan's questioning look. "I don't know what's going on either, I have to go. Emily and I have class today." She smiled and waved in farewell.

Logan got up, groaning. "I don't want to go." He muttered as Ororo wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't worry, Scott won't let you get hurt." She teased him gently.

"I'm not worried about that." He held her at arm's length. "I'm worried about you."

"Logan, I'm fine here at the school. Nothing's going to happen. We'll both be all right. I'll wait up for you, okay?" Ororo gave him a small smile, though she couldn't hide the fact she worried for him every time he was sent out to do even the smallest retrieval. It wasn't just that he was her boyfriend (and the first one she'd had in a long time). It was that he was Logan, and he was a crucial part of her life.

Logan nodded, and then closed the distance between their lips in a searing kiss. His hands stayed innocently at the small of her back, though his arms tightened around her. He inhaled deeply, memorizing her scent. He almost smiled smugly into their kiss; her scent quickly turned from worry to peace with a tinge of sexual arousal. His male ego was fit to burst. He pulled away gently, tracing her jaw with a calloused finger.

"Bye, Ororo." He gave her a tender smile, and then forced himself to leave. Scott was going to get a new one torn, since it was probably his idea that he come along. Or Chuck. One of them was going to get a new ass ripped for them, considering he had to leave his beautiful girlfriend who needed someone to be there for her. He growled underneath his breath, cursing everything that came to mind.

Logan walked into Xavier's office. "What's going on?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I found Magneto with Cerebro. He wants us to find him. He never usually takes his helmet off. He's in a warehouse in New York City, on the very outskirts. I've programmed the coordinates into the jet already. Are you both ready?" Charles explained quickly, though he remained perfectly calm and composed.

"Yeah." Scott replied, glancing at Logan.

"Always." Logan answered.

"Very well. Be careful, you two. I don't know what he has planned. Keep your eyes open."

Scott and Logan both nodded, and then headed to the basement. Logan didn't bother with asking if Scott was physically able. He had learned over the years that Hank was an amazing doctor, and that the mansion probably had some medicines that were too advanced for the rest of the human race to enjoy. The dark bruise was still adorning Scott's face, but his limp was gone, and he looked perfectly fine. The professor wouldn't have let Scott out of the mansion if there was any question about the quality of his health.

"Ready for this?" Scott asked as he attached his visor to his head.

Logan rolled his eyes at the new suit that had been ordered for him, since the last one he had worn had been completely ruined in a fight with a volatile telekinetic. He shot his claws out, breaking three holes in each glove. "Yup." He responded simply.

They headed towards the jet's hanger. "I need you to follow my orders." Scott suddenly rounded on him, stopping Logan in his tracks. "I haven't been out in the field for years, but I think I know what Magneto's up to. Do you trust me?" His voice was harsh and Scott grabbed two fistfuls of Logan's suit.

Logan raised an eyebrow at Scott's rough behavior. "You were an X-Man for years before I ever showed up. You're the one who knows what he's doing." He replied simply, avoiding openly saying that he trusted Cyclops with his life. Now, that would have been just plain sensitive and wussy.

Scott nodded, and then entered the hanger, beholding his beloved jet. Over the last several weeks, he had spent most of his time with it, reacquainting himself to the way it worked, and the changes that had been made over the years. He hadn't had a chance to fly it yet, but it was oddly like riding a bike. A bike that went at speeds that should be illegal, that was almost impossible to pick up on any radar, and the kind that just made one giddy just looking at him. He would never have forgotten how to fly his beloved jet. He wasn't even worried about memories that would certainly crashed over him. He had known there would be a lot of bad memories with the jet. He had faced them early, and often.

The first time he'd stepped back onto the jet was the hardest. He had touched every control in awe, looked through every compartment as though he'd never stepped off, but he had been in shock. Then reality hit him, and he realized he had last been near Jean on the jet. He'd cried for hours, pounding the steel floor, some insane part of him desperately hoping he could cause it enough pain that it would return Jean to him. Each time he came back seemed harder, but it slowly got easier. Now, it was though Jean was only a phantom when he was in the pilot's seat. He could remove himself from his emotions, as a doctor does before a delicate surgery, but they would return painfully when it was safe for them to return.

Scott settled into the pilot's chair, starting the engines. He pressed what was affectionately known as the 'garage door remote' and watched the basketball court move out of the way so he could maneuver the jet into the noon sky. He pressed several more buttons, and the jet molded to its surroundings, becoming almost impossible to see.

"Good luck, Scott, Logan." The professor's voice resounded in their heads as Scott brought the coordinates up, and then put the jet onto autopilot.

"What do you think old Magnet's up to?" Logan asked casually, leaning back in the co-pilot's seat.

"Either he's planning to throw us a surprise party," Scott's voice was colored with amusement. "Or he wants to give us some information. He's incredibly good at what he does. He'll give us enough, and then attempt to break our unified front. He did it with John. He tempted him with power, I can imagine. I don't know how he'll do it this time." He shrugged, his adrenaline already pumping through his veins.

Scott pulled the jet from autopilot when they were less than a mile away, a soft smirk pulling at his lips when he saw a heavy mist covering the perfect stretch of land for him to set the jet down upon. He silently thanked Ororo, landing the jet smoothly and flawlessly. He allowed himself a smirk.

"I'm glad you've learned to fly." Logan muttered. "Where do we go from here?"

Scott leaned over the jet's control panel, bringing a map up onto the small screen. He stared hard at it for a few moments, and then turned away. "Come on."

The neighborhood Magneto had taken up residence in was sordid and filthy. Scott was no stranger to blood, grime and dirt, but this seemed to be a tribute to all that was terrible about the world. There were prostitutes on every corner and drug deals being done right in front of his eyes. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, becoming very aware of Logan at his side. He moved a few millimeters closer. Logan didn't miss this.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Scott lied breathlessly. Of course he wasn't okay. He would be, though. He didn't need drugs. He needed to get this mission done. It was his duty as an X-Man.

Scott slowed to a stop in front of a huge metal monstrosity. In any other situation, it would have stuck out painfully, but two other warehouses surrounded it, making it simply part of the scenery. It was the perfect place. Metal, completely out of the public eye, and in a neighborhood no one in their right mind would enter. He wondered how they should enter, but just as a plan began to form in his mind, a small door on the side of the building opened.

A huge man stepped out and gestured for them to follow. "He's been waiting." The man grunted.

Scott glanced at Logan. "You sense anything?" He asked, his hand on his visor.

"No, he's fine." Logan muttered back, and they both followed the huge man.

They followed the man into the warehouse, and they discovered it was merely one huge empty room with perfect walls created for some privacy and to divide the space. Scott's fingers itched to stay on his visor, but they hadn't been attacked yet. If Magneto wanted to fight, he would have showed some aggression already.

One thing that Scott had realized was that Magneto would never attack the school, or the children that were not official X-Men. He had never figured out why, but he supposed it was because Erik had helped build the school. He had been a teacher at one point. Scott still remembered being taught by him. It was always difficult to face a past mentor and past friend in battle, but it was necessary. Scott cared more about the future of mutant and humankind than he did about Erik, though it was an insensitive thought. Another thing Scott had realized was that Magneto usually made the first move with a pawn. He would send a lackey to attack first. The huge man had done nothing but give them dark looks, as though he wished to rip them apart. Scott felt rather safe in assuming they were in no physical danger.

Scott forced himself to stay calm when they were brought into the last of the many rooms in the warehouse, and Magneto was sitting behind a metal desk, six metal balls clinking against each other as they hovered above the desk. His old features did not give him the appearance of weakness; they only added to his intimidation factor. He was ancient, but his ability to manipulate metal was very powerful. He stood straighter, assuming his role as leader of the X-Men.

"Magneto." He greeted evenly.

"Ah, Scott!" Erik Lensherr replied, as if greeting an old friend. "It has been too long."

"One might say it hasn't been long enough." Scott suggested calmly, though he sensed Logan's amusement at what Scott thought was 'smack talk'.

"What do you want, Magneto?" Logan asked, bored.

"How… animalistic." Erik sniffed in the utterly annoying way of aristocrats. "I'm sure you're wondering why I haven't killed you, yet."

"You could say that." Cyclops snapped. "Get on with it, Magneto." He ordered, frustrated with the fact Erik was merely stalling.

"Always so impatient, Scott. I find it hard to believe you haven't given up on your fight against drugs." Magneto commented lightly, his eyes glinting in the strange light. "If you insist, though." He stood up and walked around his desk. "I have been waiting to start bringing my plans to fruition, but now is the time. My Brotherhood and I will be attacking humanity. It doesn't matter to us who we attack. Truly." His eyebrows shot up at Logan's disbelieving look. "Oh, don't worry. They won't be innocents."

"That's because no human's innocent to you." Scott spat. "Why did you bring us here?"

Magneto smirked, but he didn't stop to answer Cyclops. "I know you and your little X-Men will want to stop us. Understandable, since our philosophies, sadly, are very different. However, I cannot allow you to get in my way." He told them delicately.

Logan glanced at Scott. "I thought you said he would have attacked us sooner."

Scott looked back. "So I was wrong."

Magneto chuckled once. "You don't have to leave. Scott, we would both benefit if you stayed here. You would be useful, and you wouldn't have to bother with the nonsense of being clean of drugs. I know you wish for it. I can provide you with anything you wanted, if you would only help me."

Logan looked at his comrade. Scott's face was emotionless, almost a stone statue. "No."

"I'm sorry." Magneto's voice almost seemed to contain true sorrow.

Both men, sensing what was about to happen, turned around and ran for the door they had come through. Scott reached a hand up to his visor and blasted away the huge man that had led them in. He didn't bother to check if he was unconscious or dead; he didn't care at the moment. His entire brain was functioning on one thought: Logan, part of his team, was in danger.

Magneto merely chuckled at their attempts to leave, and leaned back as they ran out of his study of sorts. He gave the signal to a mutant nearby, and that mutant went to alert the others.

Currently, Scott and Logan were in a bit of a bind. There were already four for each of them to contend with. Scott sighed, wishing he didn't have to hurt these mutants and turned his visor to a higher level. He aimed, and knocked out five of the eight that were attacking him and Logan. Logan dispatched the other three quickly, and they advanced through the hallway.

"This way." Logan sniffed the air and led them down another hallway. Scott didn't question how he knew which way to go by the smell.

A cocky dark-haired young man was patrolling the hall they came down. He froze, and Scott couldn't tell if he was frightened or shocked. He didn't wait to find out. Turning his visor to stun, Cyclops knocked the young man out.

"Cyke…" Logan called Scott back, for the other man had just kept walking. "It's Pyro."

Scott bit down on his bottom lip, staring down at his former student. John looked so young when he was unconscious. His dark hair was very blonde at the tips, as if he had dyed it a while ago, and it was almost done growing out. He had the body of a twenty-three-year-old, but he still looked like a hardened teenager, a rebel without a cause. He closed his eyes, and then turned his back.

"We have to go." He intoned solidly.

Logan nodded and left the unconscious kid where he was.

Five minutes later, they burst out into the bright daylight. Scott kept his hand at his visor. They hadn't encountered any trouble since he had knocked John unconscious, and he knew that it wasn't because Magneto was sloppy. Erik had known exactly what they would have done, and Scott didn't expect to encounter any mistakes he could take advantage of soon.

Logan's keen ears heard something, and with a roar, he sprinted towards the jet. Fearing the worst, Scott followed at his heels. When they reached the jet, which was still invisible, they launched into action. Logan didn't wait for Scott to react, he merely ran up the ramp to attack the two Brotherhood mutants who were trying to figure out how the jet worked. Scott began to pick off the mutants standing guard. He was suddenly thrown off balance by a large weight hitting his back, and he was shoved into the ground. He rolled over, kicking his opponent off of him.

He got back to his feet, abandoning his blasts. His opponent was a thin, wiry young woman who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. He immediately suspected super-strength as her mutation, but then she jumped into the air and shot towards him like a rocket. He stepped out of the way, finding his battle calm, and blasted her. She landed on the ground with a sickening thud, a hundred yards away. He turned away and went into the jet to see how Logan had faired.

"What took you so long?" The Wolverine asked, lounging in the co-pilot's seat.

"Ran into a little trouble." Scott replied simply, starting the jet up, thankful the jet was too confusing for anyone not familiar to his ways to figure out.

He set the coordinates for the mansion into the computer, putting it on autopilot. Scott stared into the distance for a while, heaving air in and out of his chest. He kept trying to breathe deeper and quicker, as though a breath would come that would magically give him relief from the crushing pain that came from being completely vulnerable in front of his worst enemy.

Tears slowly gathered in his eyes, and then fell down his cheeks. They continued coming until they were steady streams down his face. He leaned forward, propping his forehead up on the palms on his hands, his elbows on the space on the control panel that was empty. His shoulder shook, and he sobbed.

Logan, shocked by this show of emotion, merely placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, offering his unspoken support.

They remained as they were for the entire flight back. They parted when the elevator took them to the main part of the mansion, both of them in their normal clothes. Logan went to find Ororo. Scott went to the garage, his car keys in his pocket and a purpose in his mind.


	17. Hope, Always

**I haven't said this in a while, but it still deserves to be said. Kudos to WCUGirl for betaing my chapters. Go read her fics, they're awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Emily Rachery. I do own Alyssa Earnest, though.**

Scott walked into the garage, a thousand voices screaming in his head. He swallowed, and forced away any thought of guilt. Magneto had known… and he had offered him an unlimited supply of drugs. Why had he not taken the offer? He could still fight for mutant rights, and he could have the drugs he wanted. Who cared about Charles' dream for mutant and human equality? It would never happen. Humanity still struggled with accepting people of color, and it had been over fifty years. It would never happen. Equality was simply a dream.

He walked around the corner, heading towards his Mazda. It wouldn't take him too long to get to the mall he'd gone to with Logan. He could be there and back within half an hour and have some drugs. He could hide it in his car, underneath the seats. No one would think to check there… he'd be fine. He almost began babbling aloud to calm himself down. He needed the drugs. He needed something to keep him from going crazy.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?" Alyssa Earnest's voice asked him, slightly amused.

Scott looked up, focusing on the scene in front of him, shocked out of his autopilot state. Alyssa was perched on the hood of his Mazda, as pretty as can be. One ear had an iPod earphone, and she held a Vanity Fair magazine in her hands. She looked as casual as she would if she was in the game room. The only difference was that it seemed she had known exactly where he would be headed when he came back.

"Don't you have class?" Scott asked harshly.

"Nope." Alyssa answered cheerfully, not noticing his tone, or not allowing herself to be frightened. She turned her iPod off and stuffed it and her magazine into her backpack that leaned against the Mazda's front tire. "It was canceled, and that's the only one I had today. Thought you might need a little help."

"Just get out of my fucking way, okay, Alyssa? You wouldn't understand." Scott spat. "It doesn't matter if you shot up a couple times as a kid. This is different." 

Alyssa's eyebrow shot up. "…How?" She asked, not moving from where she sat. "Scott, just take a deep breath, okay? I know you're freaked out. I always was when I came back from a mission."

"It wasn't a mission!" He exclaimed. "Magneto lured us there… it was so fucking _**simple**_. He offered me a place with him and all the drugs I'd ever want if I just joined him. And I said no. I said NO!" He picked up a wrench he had left out and threw it at the wall in anger.

"I'm proud of you." Alyssa's soft voice broke through his anger. "You said no. You could have said yes, but you didn't. That's good."

"I don't care! I said no!" Scott raked his fingers through his hair. "I knocked John unconscious. He was a little shocked that I was there, but I knocked him out and left him with the Brotherhood. I couldn't believe that I was seeing him. He still looked so young, but he was too thin, and he looked so tired. He looked so _tired_." He continued to ramble on, and eventually, his words were so quiet that Alyssa couldn't hear them.

"Scott… I think you should go upstairs and take a shower. And then you should talk to the Professor. Not professionally. You're really shaken up." She told him, taking gentle hold of his elbow and leading him out of the garage.

Alyssa looked over him, taking stock of what kind of condition he was in. She didn't feel safe leaving him to walk up alone. Her grip loosened, but she still held his elbow as she took him to the professor's study. She knocked on the door. 

"Come in Alyssa, Scott." Charles' voice called, breaking Scott out of his stupor.

"Go on." She urged him with a smile. "Can I tell Emily about John?" She whispered softly, her eyes wide and worried.

"I don't know." He replied, opening the door and walking into the study.

Alyssa leaned against the wall near the study door, her eyes shut. She wasn't attempting to eavesdrop, though she heard the low murmur of voices. She rubbed her eyes, sliding to the ground. She ran a hand through her hair. She remembered she had left her Vanity Fair and iPod in the garage. The magazine had Zach Braff on the front. She was secretly and passionately in love with him. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. It was a text message from Emily.

"I know you want to know where I am, Emily, but I'm about to spew molten crazy over everyone if I don't scream soon." Alyssa muttered as she stood up, straightening her clothes. She let out a sigh and walked towards Emily's room.

Alyssa paused in front of the door, but it swung open before she could make the decision to open it. Emily stood in the threshold, a worried look on her face. The two friends faced each other silently, before Alyssa grabbed Emily's hand and closed the door behind her.

"Em, I need to tell you something." She stated seriously.

Emily's eyes widened, but she didn't interject. Alyssa continued, taking a deep breath. "I talked to Mr. Summers, which was where I was, and… well, he told me he saw John when they were at Magneto's. He looked like he wasn't doing good, but he's alive." She plopped down onto Emily's bed.

Emily sighed and then sat down next to her. "Um… wow…" She whispered, staring at the floor. "I hope he's okay. Did Mr. Summers say that he looked at least healthy? Do you know if he's eating okay? He has such a bad habit of eating only fast food. I wonder if he's sleeping all right. Did you know he used to have nightmares a lot? I hope they haven't come back; they really tortured him." Emily rambled on and on, gripping the top blanket on her bed tightly, as it trying to strangle it. Her worry manifested on her pale face as she tried to fight off tears.

Alyssa put an arm tentatively around her shoulders, glancing down at the floor. "Emily, I don't know what to say. He's with the Brotherhood, and I'm not familiar with their health benefits, but I'm sure he's fine." She let Emily lean her head on her shoulder. "But I don't know. He chose to go with them, and I know you care about him, but still. He chose this life, and whatever's going on… he chose it. I don't know if he knows, but nonetheless… if he wanted to leave them and come back, he could. He wants to be there, and sometimes… you just gotta accept the bad choices some people make."

Emily nodded, wiping her tears away. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Of course you're right. I'm just being silly. I'm a silly little girl with a crush on the bad boy because none of the good guys wanted to be with me." She took a deep, shaky breath. "It's not that I'm expecting him to come back and then sweep me off my freaking feet or whatever. It's just that I miss him, and I worry about him all of the time. I want to know he's safe. I mean, is that so wrong?" She looked at her friend. "I don't want to lose him."

"No, it's not wrong." Alyssa assured her. "You know, you're probably the best of us. You still care about him, and you're not ashamed of that. But I do think you need to let go of him. He made his choice, and you've made yours. I don't know, things could change, but as for now, you're just torturing yourself." She paused, thinking about what Emily had said. "And the good guys did want you. There was Robi."

Emily nodded sadly. "Yeah. I just miss him so much sometimes." She hugged herself, sighing. "It isn't like I wanted to date him, or that I think I had a future with him, because I didn't. Not then. We were just kids. But we understood each other, in a weird, WEIRD way." She smiled, giggling slightly. "And no, ew, not Robi. Though he and John did have an interesting… relationship. Sparkles and Firefly, as I recall."

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Now, you've lost it. Thinking John Allerdyce understands anything. I mean, please." She pushed Emily, grinning suddenly. "You still have a crush on him, don't you? Don't ya?" She teased her.

"No!" Emily hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Alyssa got up and began her In Your Face dance. "In your faaace, in your faaaace, in your faaaaace!" She sang out, grinning like an idiot.

"You're stupid, Alyssa." Emily snapped, though she couldn't hide the laughter the bubbled up.

Alyssa bowed deeply, intensely relieved that Emily's mind was now off of John. She had a feeling that Emily didn't just care about him, that she loved him, to some degree. Perhaps not romantically or in the way that made people want to get married and have babies, but she definitely loved him. It broke her heart to see her best friend so sad over something she, the best friend, couldn't change. She could only hope that everything would work itself out in time.

"Hey, let's go kick some butt in the Danger Room." Alyssa suggested randomly.

"Oh, yeah, that'll be fun." Emily responded sarcastically.

Alyssa squirted her with water from her fingertips. "Oh, you're hilarious. Let's go get really greasy burgers that make you gain, like, five pounds just looking at them. And then we have to get ice cream." She grabbed her feline friend's hand and tried to drag her out of the room.

"Wait." Emily ordered and Alyssa stopped tugging.

"What? The burgers are caaaaaalling, Emily. They're caaaaaalling." She said in her 'spooky' voice. "You want to do something else?"

"I want to drive." She pouted as Alyssa shook her head, a frightened expression on her face. "Come on! Or I'll never make brownies for you again."

Alyssa growled and then handed over the car keys. "Stupid… brownies… so damn good, though."

**XXX**

Scott sighed as he looked at Charles, feeling nothing but despair shoot through his body. All he could hear was Magneto's voice echoing in his head, condemning him for not making the right choice. But what was the right choice? Drugs called out to him, and he wanted them, but did he truly want them? Were they worth breaking his friends' hearts again? Were they worth seeing Alyssa as a young girl, curled up in a dark corner and drugs in her blood, flash through his head every time he thought about drugs? Was it worth it?

Of course it wasn't. There was a part of him that was very angry he just admitted that.

"I don't know what to do, Charles." He said softly. "I feel so trapped. From the moment Logan and I came back, I have about twenty ways to get some sort of fix that I could execute in five minutes or less. I could be in my room, feeling better in five minutes, and I don't know why I'm still sitting here. I can't believe Magneto said that. He knew I wouldn't say yes. He knew it. And yet, he's ingrained himself into my mind, trying to pull me back so I can't lead the X-Men." Scott squeezed his hands into fists.

Professor Xavier nodded. "Scott, he is quite manipulative that way. He knows you are what keeps the team together. You are the leader. Magneto knows that if you are on drugs, the team will be worried about you, instead of focusing on the mission. He knows that we have the advantage in battle. If he has the mental advantage, he thinks he can break us so we cannot stop him from completing his plans."

"You're right." Scott sighed. "I need to go lay down or something. My head's spinning." He muttered, his words running together.

Scott stood up and left the room, unsure of the emotions that seemed to be bubbling up in his chest. He needed to run or break something, or blast someone. He forced his lips shut, tempted to scream, but that would frighten the students. He took deep, forceful breaths, attempting to calm himself. He jumped, startled, when he heard a BAMF! erupt behind him.

"I'm sorry for frightening you, Mr. Summers, but I would like to show you something. I know you have been very tortured, and there is something that always brings me peace." Kurt explained. "I will understand if you have something else to do, but it is an offer."

"What are you talking about?" Scott asked, finding it hard to be so angry at Kurt. His anger seemed to melt away at the aura Kurt exuded. He slid his hands into his pockets.

"I know we do not believe the same things, but I go to this small, broken down chapel to pray and be alone. It is quite peaceful." Kurt said, a small smile on his face as he recalled the many times he had connected with God in the church he was speaking of.

Scott considered this, and then nodded. "Alright." He accepted Kurt's hand, gripping tightly as they teleported with a BAMF!

Scott opened his eyes which he had squeezed shut when Kurt let go of him, shivering as the cold seemed to seep through his X-Men suit. He looked around, seeing the ruin of what once might have been a charming, small town chapel. The stained glass windows were shattered, and the roof had several small holes punched through it. Water dripped through the holes in the ceiling from recent rains and had permanently damaged the hardwood floors.

"It is not much, but no one comes here." Kurt smiled at the small figure of Jesus that was perched on the simple altar at the front of the church. "I find He speaks to me here, and He reminds me of who He is. I often lose sight." His voice seemed distant, as though his thoughts were miles away from where he and Scott stood.

Scott nodded, though some unspoken anger curled its burning fingers around his heart. How could Kurt talk about some loving God when he did not have the only woman he had ever truly loved? God was a myth. Even if he was real, what was the point? He obviously didn't care. There were so many mutant children being hurt everyday by their angry and frightened parents. Many more kids were living on the streets because they were hated for something that GOD made them. Where was the love in that?

In a fit of anger, Scott stormed over to where a small three-legged stool sat and lifted it up. He whirled around and then sent it flying. It gouged a large hole in the deteriorating wall and was completely shattered. He fell to his knees, letting out a tortured scream.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Kurt asked quietly when Scott finished screaming, and had bent over, his forehead touching the floor.

"NO!" Scott snapped, forcing himself back to his feet. "There is no loving God, Kurt. I loved her. I loved her with all that I am, and still, she was torn away from me. I have to live in agony every single day without her. She was my life. She was SUPPOSED to become my wife. There is no God." He spat.

Kurt shrugged slightly. "God does not force us to make any decision. Miss Grey chose to save us all, giving us all a chance to live. She was completely selfless; a remarkable woman, truly. It was not God who killed her." He pointed out softly.

Scott, knowing anger was futile, fell onto one of the pews and sighed, forcing away tears. "But she's still gone, and I don't know what to do. I have to go out there and fight, and Magneto knows my weakness. He's trying to destroy me. I don't want to go back to that place I was in, where I wanted to kill myself because each breath without Jean hurt me. But there's no choice."

Kurt sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There is always a choice, and there is always hope."

"Hope?" Scott asked, a slight sneer present in his tone.

"Yes, hope." Kurt nodded. "How about we return to the mansion, it is getting late and I'm sure Wolverine will want to speak with you."

Scott nodded, and Kurt teleported them back to the mansion.

**XXX**

Ororo sighed, attempting to read the same paragraph for the fiftieth time. She let out a groan of frustration and then slammed her book down onto the table. Logan looked up from the beer he was nursing down with his feet propped up on the same table Ororo was sitting out. The couple had decided to spend some time in the formal dining room, simply because it was usually unoccupied, and had sat there for the past half hour in silence, enjoying each other's company.

"What's wrong?" Logan asked her.

Ororo sighed. "I'm worried about Scott. I haven't seen him for several hours and I think he might have done something rash." She explained.

"Look, Ro, I know you want to be a good friend to him." He began, putting his feet back on the ground and staring her straight in the eye. "But you're worrying yourself senseless over him."

"Why shouldn't I? From what you said, he might be seriously in need of someone to be there. I'm a worrier; it's what I do!" She ran her fingers through her silvery white hair.

Logan forced a small smile, doing his best to be supportive. He understood that Cyke and his girlfriend were good friends, and he wasn't worried about the two of them getting together behind his back. Ororo wasn't that girl, and Cyke was in no emotional shape to be in any sort of relationship because he'd constantly compare that girl to Jeannie. He was only jealous of the amount of time Ororo spent with Scott. He, Logan, was her boyfriend. Shouldn't he get the lion's share of Ororo's free time?

"You worry about him a lot." Logan commented, a mere stating of fact.

"Yes." Ororo agreed, looking at her boyfriend. "What are you trying to say?"

"Just sounds to me like you care more about him than you do me." He shrugged, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, don't start." Ororo ordered. "You know I care about you, a lot. I care about Scott in a different way. I don't want him to ruin everything he's done, and yes, I think about his progress a lot. I check up on him. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. He is my friend, but you…" She stood up and walked around the table to where he sat. She moved onto his lap. "You are my boyfriend."

"So?" Logan asked her dryly.

"I think you're cute." She teased him, kissing his nose. She turned serious and looked straight into his eyes. "I will try to pay more attention to you and stop worrying about Scott. I do smother him, and I probably need to give him some space." She sighed, and wound her arms around his neck. "How about we do something together tomorrow? Just you and me, all day. See a movie, walk around somewhere… something romantic." She suggested with a smile.

Logan wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body close. "Sounds good, Ro."

"Good." She pulled away and kissed him on the lips. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow at nine. Thank God for Saturdays, right?"

"Right." Logan watched her walk away, and then turned back to his beer. He got up and walked into the game room, tossing himself onto the comfortable couch and then began nursing down the last half of his beer.


	18. Battling For A Second Chance

**Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or Emily Rachery.**

"Cyke, remind me again why the hell we're going to go save some idiots who got themselves on Magneto's shit-list."

Scott snickered as he started the jet up, Ororo to his right in the co-pilot chair. He felt completely at ease with the team following his lead, and being in the pilot's chair. This was where he was meant to be, and he hadn't realized how much he had truly missed being an X-Man. It was part of who he was, an integral part of his DNA. Being a leader brought out an entirely different part of his personality, and he was no longer helpless and in need of everyone else's support. The entire mission fell on his shoulders and his decisions. The weight did not suffocate him. If anything, it gave him more freedom and power.

He relaxed his grip on the controls when they lifted out of the basketball court. He could deal with being down one engine or careening out of control. In all situations, he was a fantastic pilot who was capable to deal with all situations. It was lifting off from underneath a basketball court that troubled him, but with the visor and his skills at looking completely emotionless, the only one who was aware of his phobia was Ororo. She found great amusement in it, but did not tell anyone. He was thankful for that.

Scott glanced over his shoulder. "Angel, Nightcrawler, you both alright?" He asked, smirking at Warren who was finding it difficult to sit with his beautiful wings wishing to be stretched out.

"I am fine, Cyclops." Kurt nodded his head, slightly uncomfortable in his X-Man suit.

"Oh, just dandy, fearless leader." Warren muttered. He looked as though he was afraid the walls of the jet would slowly move in and then crush him.

"Good." Scott replied cheerfully.

"Estimated ETA, ten minutes." Storm reported, looking down at the built-in computer.

"Get ready to go, X-Men." Cyclops ordered. "Take over, Storm." He stood up when Ororo nodded to him.

Scott stood up and then faced the rest of the team. "I'm sorry I was unable to brief you all beforehand, but the information came so quickly we had to move immediately or more damage would be done." He paused, looking over his teammates. It was his duty to make sure they all came back in one piece. "Magneto has attacked a ranch in Kansas. It's a known base of the Friends of Humanity."

"Why not just let Magneto finish them off for us?" Logan asked brashly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because Magneto would kill them all, and most of their younger members don't truly know what they are doing. We want to spare as many as we can." Cyclops snapped, not having the patience for comments that usually would amuse him. "We are there only to protect the humans. That is our only objective, so no running off." He looked directly at Logan who let his middle claw shoot out, causing Bobby to have to hide his laughter.

"What's the plan, Cyclops?" Alyssa asked, those four words being the first she'd spoken the entire time they had been on the jet. She and Emily, or, as they were known to the X-Men, Aquagyne and Luna, had been oddly silent. This was the first combat mission they had ever been on, and their fear had struck them dumb.

"Unfortunately, there is no real plan. Magneto probably has the leaders in custody and has left already. His minions stay behind to finish the job." Scott's voice was grim. "So just get in there and fight them back, force them to retreat. Do not kill unless it is absolutely necessary."

The X-Men nodded wordlessly, and Scott took his seat once more. He manually guided the jet for the rest of the journey, his excitement at leading the team once more fading to grim and dread at the thought of actually protecting the Friends of Humanity. He agreed with Charles in theory: that they should stand for the equality of both humans and mutants. He knew it was the right thing to do, since no one else had the ability to protect the world from Magneto and his Brotherhood. He simply harbored much bitterness towards hateful humans. He sighed, and turned his attention to landing the jet expertly near the battle site.

Cyclops took in the entire scene with one glance. Human bodies were strewn across the fields, and the barn and house were up in flames, lone lanterns in a velvety night. He stood up and powered down the jets, cloaking it to its surroundings. Without a word, he led the team out of the jet and down onto land. He turned to them, making sure everyone was there and accounted for, and then set off at a run, his visor set for stun.

Alyssa swallowed her fear and gave Emily's hand a quick squeeze. "Good luck." She whispered, and then turned to Warren, lucky the rush of battle and fear caused the flush on her cheeks instead of just looking at him, though she hardly could be bothered with something as trivial and superficial as his facial features. "Angel, a little help?"

Angel nodded and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Aquagyne closed her eyes and held in a gasp as Angel's powerful wings took them up into the air. "Keep low." She told him, taking deep breaths to focus her power.

Angel swooped down low, trying to stay as steady and controlled as he could, knowing those without wings didn't find the abrupt jarring as awesome as he did. Alyssa pulled water from the grass, nearby plants and the air, putting out the flames that raged on the small ranch house. It was still in ruins, but it wouldn't catch onto the dry grass and burn like the wild fire it could be.

"Thanks!" Aquagyne called over her shoulder when Angel put her down and ran off to defend a human that two Brotherhood mutants were torturing.

Nightcrawler, being the pacifist he was, did no harmful damage whatsoever. He BAMFed from one place to another, causing great confusion among the Brotherhood, and several Brotherhood mutants ended up injured because one of their teammates miscalculated a stone throw. Storm levitated in the air, striking several mutants with lightning and confusing others with the thick fog she created low on the ground. Cyclops was quickly picking off as many mutants as he could with his flawless aim, though there were times he had to resort to hand to hand combat. He took down his opponents with a perfect jab to a pressure point or with a powerful punch to the nose, breaking it. Angel used the momentum gained from swooping to punch or kick a Brotherhood mutant, sending them flying into the ruins of the barn.

Wolverine's claws shot out, and he leapt onto a trio of mutants that were alternatively using their powers and fists to hurt several humans. He finished them off quickly, growling at the humans who started to thank him tearfully. He didn't want their thanks. He found himself at Iceman's back as the Brotherhood mutants began to regroup and retaliate on their attackers.

"Come on Popsicle, help me out a little bit!" Wolverine yelled over the din of battle, burying his claws into another mutant's stomach.

"Working on it!" Iceman stomped on the ground and ice wound it's way up the legs of his foes. Moving his arms to the left, the ice caused every one of them to topple over. He took a deep breath and focused on icing all of the bodies to the ground. He cried out as a fist came in contact with the side of his head and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Feathers, get Popsicle the hell out of here!" Wolverine shouted to Angel who was currently contending with a mutant who seemed to control gravity.

Angel leapt into the air and kicked the face of the other mutant, knocking him out. He nodded to Wolverine, picking up Iceman in his strong arms and flying off to the jet. Wolverine turned around to find the mutant who had hit one of his teammates. He growled, but then flashed a feral smile that put fear in the hearts of anyone who witnessed it.

Cyclops surveyed the site of the battle, taking stock of what was happening. The team of Brotherhood mutants had been decimated, and all of the humans seemed to realize that the X-Men weren't there to hurt them. The Friends of Humanity (for it was undeniable that these humans were part of the organization) almost looked as though they were reconsidering their affiliation, considering how they had been saved from mutants who intended to harm them by mutants who aimed to protect them. Suddenly their world was no longer black and white, and Cyclops' lips quirked in a small smile. The smile disappeared, but his heart was filled with relief when he saw his entire team was, for the most part, completely unharmed, save for Bobby, who was safe in the cloaked jet.

He considered his options, and then called his team over. "X-Men, our job here is done." He told them. "Angel, go over to those humans and ask them if they would like to return to the mansion with us, where we can offer them medical attention and shelter from the Brotherhood. Storm, go back to the jet and start it up." He nodded to her when she turned and left. "Aquagyne and Luna, go around and see if there are any survivors. Nightcrawler, go with them. Wolverine and I will go back to the jet and prepare for take off." He ordered quickly, and then turned around, Logan falling into step behind him.

Alyssa ran her shaking fingers through her hair as she, Emily and Kurt explored the field the battle had taken place on, checking the fallen bodies for any unconscious or wounded. Her stomach was turning from seeing all of the dead corpses. All of the grievous wounds that had been inflicted… she could even tell which ones were from each of her teammates. Those that had been hit by Cyclops had gaping holes or large burns covering their bodies. Three even stab wounds were identified as Wolverine's… and the list went on. By the time they were halfway done, Alyssa's hand was firmly clasped over her mouth and she was trying to keep from throwing up. She was still in shock, and she could tell Emily was as well.

"Alyssa…"

She was brought out of her reverie when she heard her friend's voice and realized that Emily was no longer right by her side. She turned around to see Emily kneeling on the ground. She stopped and turned around to face the feline.

"What's wrong?" Alyssa walked over to Emily, peering over her to see what was wrong. Kurt joined her.

"It's…" Emily couldn't choke out the words. With trembling hands, she turned the body over to reveal the face of John Allerdyce.

"Oh my God." Alyssa whispered. She blinked, her mouth opening and closing several times. "Oh my God."

Kurt knelt down, his fingers gently touching the young man's neck. "He's merely unconscious, and he's not badly hurt. He should be fine."

Emily looked up at Alyssa, her eyes begging. Alyssa didn't need to ask or be Emily's best friend in the entire world to know what she was begging. She bit her bottom lip, casting a glance over towards the jet. In any other circumstance, the decision would have been easy to make. They would take the mutant back to the mansion with them so he or she could be treated and then let go. However, it was as though John was a special case. He was a traitor.

"Let's take him." She decided. "Kurt, could you take him back? We'll be right behind you."

"Of course, fraulein." Kurt gathered John up in his arms and teleported back to the jet.

Alyssa and Emily finished checking the bodies, and found no others alive. Leaning on each other for support, they made their way back to the jet. They walked up the ramp, and Emily immediately went where John had been laid on the bench seats in the back of the jet. Alyssa stopped and looked down at her old classmate. How strange. She had never been his biggest fan, and had been secretly scornful of him when he had left. Now, seeing how Emily was fighting away tears, she found herself begging God that he'd wake up and be as fit as a twenty-three-year-old should be.

"We're not bringing Pyro back with us." Logan stated forcefully.

Alyssa looked up and saw that Logan and Scott were butting heads over John already. She sighed, prodding Emily's back with her foot.

"What?" Emily asked, her nose clogged from the tears that were streaming down her face already.

"Stay with him. I'm gonna talk to them." Alyssa said, and then approached Scott and Logan.

"Kid, why the hell did you bring him back?" Logan demanded to know.

Alyssa was taken aback by the ferocity in Logan's voice, but recovered, pushing away her personal fear. There was no reason to be afraid of the Wolverine. He was deadly in battle, but he was an X-Man. He was on her team, but she still found herself slightly cowed by the fact he had huge claws.

"Logan…" Scott's tone held steely warning.

"I brought him because he might be hurt." Alyssa's voice didn't hold its normal strength or presence. Around the elder X-Men, she always felt like a scared little girl who was barely keeping it together. She stood up a little straighter. "I just thought…" She trailed off, glancing over her shoulder at Emily. "Look at her." Her voice was soft and tender as she gazed upon her best friend.

Emily knelt beside John's unconscious form, one of his hands clasped between both of hers. The light caught the tear tracks forming on her face. She was talking quietly, her words only audible to Logan's ears. As Scott, Logan and Alyssa watched, Emily shifted back to her feet and then sat down on the bench. She lifted up John's head and set it on her lap. Her quivering fingers slowly combed through his coarse and dirty hair. Through all of this, she never stopped whispering to him. Her eyes seemed to glisten with tears about to be shed as she beheld the young man she had cried over for seven years.

Alyssa turned back to Scott and Logan. "I understand that he turned his back on the X-Men. He turned his back on me, too. He turned his back on Emily. But he still deserves a second chance… doesn't he?" Not by chance, Alyssa's eyes met Scott's through his visor.

Scott felt a familiar pang, the one that echoed in his chest when he knew he was being rebuked. He hadn't wanted to accept John back, but he wasn't about to advocate Logan's way of doing things: slice and dice him, and then leave him for dead with the other corpses. He turned his gaze away from Alyssa and looked back at Emily and John.

John's eyes flittered open slowly, and he looked up into Emily's face. It was obvious he thought he was dreaming, or dead. Scott watched him lay there for several long moments, merely taking in Emily's face. John closed his eyes again, but caught her hand as it paused in his hair. He brought her hand down to his chest, where he intertwined their fingers comfortably. His breathing slowed, and he was asleep, their hands still touching.

"Please, Scott." Alyssa begged quietly. "I know he's a traitor, but we can't just turn our backs on him when he needs our help. Please." Her voice faded away and she fought away tears of passion.

Scott sighed, and then nodded. "Alright. We take him back, but we're not just letting him leave. He might have a lot of information, having been with Magneto for so long." He decided, and then turned around, settling into the pilot's chair.

Alyssa nodded. "Thank you." She turned around and walked back to where Emily sat with a sleeping John. "How's he doing?"

Emily looked up and her eyes were shining. "He woke up, Lyssa. He woke up and he recognized me." Her voice was unnaturally giddy for Emily Rachery, but Alyssa found it adorably heart-warming. "I'm just glad he's okay. And he's sleeping."

Alyssa grinned. "Yeah." She looked down at John, her heart softening towards him. If Emily, though blinded by the senseless love she had for him as she was, could still care for him and want to make sure he was alright, the least she could do was try to accept him back.

**XXX**

John Allerdyce had been running with the wrong people for many years, and he wasn't a blind, angry teenager anymore. He'd learned a few, hard lessons, and one of those lessons was that it wasn't everyone else that caused such anger in him. He was angry with himself, because he wasn't anywhere close to the kind of person he knew he wanted to be. Still, it was easier to blame everyone else and forget his pain for a while. He knew that he was being manipulated and controlled. His greatest sin was knowing that someone else was pulling the strings that controlled him, and not doing anything to try and sever the ties that held him in the pit of despair he'd dug for himself. He had wanted to return to the mansion, which was the only home he'd ever known, but the Brotherhood… you didn't leave unless you were dead. He had wanted to leave and run far, far away, back into the protective arms of those at the mansion, but he couldn't leave.

So, when he woke up in the medlab at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, you can imagine his shock.

"What the…?" He asked the empty room, sitting up and glancing down when he shivered. He was shirtless, and several plastic circles were attached to his skin, and several monitors nearby were beeping at a steady pace. He glanced around, wondering if it would be better to start running now or stay and wait.

He chose the first option. He gently pulled off all of the plastic circles and then swung his legs over the side of the table he was lying on. He stood up, swaying slightly. John steadied himself by grabbing hold of the table and waited until his legs cooperated with his mind. He turned around, spotting his cleaned shirt carefully folded on the stainless steel counter. He slowly walked to it and pulled it on. He froze when the door opened. He didn't turn around.

"Mr. Allerdyce, you should probably sit down. You took a pretty nasty hit to the head."

John whirled around. "Dr. McCoy?" His suspicions were confirmed with one glance at the blue fur.

"The one and only." Hank smiled charmingly. "Well, if you don't feel like sitting down, might I check?" He picked up a small penlight and strode over to John, the epitome of medical professionalism.

"Uh, sure." John answered, unsure of why Hank was treating him. "Why are you doing this?"

As Hank checked John's pupils, he gave the younger man a smile. "Though you may have turned your back on the X-Men and conspired with the Brotherhood, Alyssa Earnest, I'm sure you remember her, managed to convince Cyclops and Wolverine to let you return." He patted John on the shoulder. "In fact, Alyssa and Emily wanted to come down and make sure you were all right, and would be here now if not for the classes they teach."

John's heart stopped. "Emily… wanted to see me?" He asked, his eyes which were normally narrowed in anger were now widened in awe and amazement. "Is she okay? How's she doing? Damn it, McCoy, tell me!" His infamous volatile anger flared up when Hank paused for a millisecond.

Hank chuckled. "She is doing well, don't worry, Mr. Allerdyce. The moment classes end, she will be down her, stuffing you with half of the school's kitchen stores."

The door opened tentatively, and John found he couldn't turn to see the visitor. Hank beamed and waved whoever was at the door in.

"It seems I might make a good prophet. I'll leave you three." Hank took John's chart and left the medlab.

"Um… hey John." The voice was older and filled with fear, but it was still Alyssa.

"Hey Alyssa." He greeted, his tone empty and emotionless.

"Damn it, you bastard!" Though he didn't want to, John had to turn at the angry voice of Emily Rachery. He quickly backed up against the wall as she came towards him, her eyes filled with fury. "You just left! With MAGNETO! You're a bastard! I hate you! I HATE YOU!" Emily shrieked, beating on his chest for all she was worth.

It was as though time had stopped for John, though Emily's fists were still pummeling him. He wouldn't be cheesy and go as far as to say he had loved her, but she had definitely been his best friend. Hell, she'd probably been his only friend other than Bobby. He was fond of Rogue, but he hadn't gotten to know her that well. He'd had some sort of angry rapport with everyone else in the mansion. He fought angrily with Bobby at some times. But with Emily… it was different. She had actually cared about him, despite his self-destructive behaviors and the fact he hardly ever treated her with anything but disdain.

Though Emily's attack hurt him physically, it gave him a sick sense of peace. She wasn't terrified of him. She didn't think he was disgusting. She still cared enough about him to touch him. She was hitting him, but it was still physical contact. Her hatred, he could take and understand. Her disdain, he could live with. But if she simply… 'nothing'ed him… that would be what killed him.

It had been seven years. He hadn't seen her or heard from her. Seven years of complete silence. He still needed her as much as he had the day she found him crying because he'd given someone a bloody lip. He never wanted to do damage; he simply didn't know how to do anything else. He didn't want to be ignored, and she understood that. He needed her to understand him again. He needed her around.

John Allerdyce would have never come back to the mansion to be an X-Man and wear the stupid leather suit. He wouldn't have returned to be known as Bobby's jerk friend. He came back for her. He had never promised her that he'd come back. He hadn't whispered sweet words of love in her ear. He'd never treated her with anything but grudging respect and sometimes unspoken tenderness. There was no obligation on his part to come back.

As stupid and senseless as it was… he came back because he didn't have to.

Emily's angry hits soon dissolved into sobs as she collapsed against him. John's eyes widened, and he didn't know what to do. He'd never been good with crying girls. Alyssa arched an eyebrow (seven years, and that was still annoying as hell), silently questioning him if she should handle the situation. Her hands were arrogantly perched on her hips, waiting for John to make a mistake.

John sneered at her over Emily's head as he gathered her close, awkwardly shushing her.

Alyssa sighed, her hands sliding into her pockets as she let Pyro comfort her best friend. She wasn't sure how good John had gotten with his powers over the years, but she knew for a fact she was better (she might be slightly egotistical), and she was pretty sure that both she and Bobby could take John if he screwed up. Speaking of Bobby… Alyssa smirked at John, before turning around to get her and Emily an I-hate-annoying-middle-school-kids snack, as well as something for John to chew on.

Yeah, like moldy bread.


	19. He Should Stay

**One Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, unfortunately. Neither do I own Emily Rachery, or a character named Robi Wexler that will be popping up soon enough. I have biiiiig plans for this story, since it originally started as just Scott getting clean from drugs. Now it's this whole thing… be proud of me!**

Scott Summers, clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips, stepped out of the bathroom. His drying hair was sticking up at odd angles, the wet parts glued to the side of his face and his forehead. He pulled open the closet and picked out a pair of dark jeans and a dark red t-shirt. Sardonically, his lips quirked upwards. His clothes seemed to reflect his mood of most days. Of course, he was doing better. Every day that passed by made it easier to ignore the cravings in his mind. He had his low points where he considered leaving and striking out on his own, but Logan seemed to smell the intent on him, and always stopped him. He had his times when he wanted to end it all, but every day made it easier to smile.

Scott dressed quickly, and ran a comb through his hair several times, checking his reflection quickly. He noticed he looked rather pale. He sighed, knowing it was from the lack of sleep and from the battle that occurred no more than two hours ago. No matter how many times he led his friends into danger and harm's way, it still affected him. It took a long nap and a sandwich to put the thoughts of what might have been from his mind. He always feared for his friends, and often had nightmares. For the past week since the incident at Magneto's temporary lair, he had the same nightmare every night: Logan slowly being pulled apart as Magneto manipulated the metal on his skeleton. He knew Logan was worried why he had been avoiding him.

He left his bedroom, his feet in comfortable sneakers. He headed instinctively towards the Professor's study.

He opened the door. "Ah, Scott, good to see you." The Professor greeted him.

Scott surveyed the room. Logan, Ororo, Bobby, Marie, Alyssa, Emily and John… this couldn't be good. "What happened?"

"Nothing, actually." Ororo replied. "We were just waiting for you."

Scott nodded, turning his eyes to the Professor. "So, what's this about?"

"Well, there is, of course, the issue of John being back at the mansion." Scott didn't miss Emily's body stiffening at this, and the fact John seemed to instinctively and reflexively shift his body so he was almost sheltering the younger woman. Scott saw John's hand shoot out to touch Emily's back, but then reconsidered and he dropped it back to his side.

The Professor, oblivious (or choosing not to comment) about this behavior, continued. "It is no question that he will be given the appropriate medical attention and shelter until he is back to his full health. I thought it prudent to call all of the X-Men here to decide this together, since it is our job to protect the school. John, as you all know, was affiliated with the Brotherhood and was active under Magneto's command." He settled back into his chair and waited for the discussion to begin.

Scott wondered why the Professor had thought it right to have John present. He sighed, knowing he just answered his own question. John had hurt the people at the mansion, and those present were all of those still at the mansion whom he had known, and it was up to the people he had hurt to decide his fate. Scott knew he and John were remarkably similar, and that was what frightened him. What if John didn't decide to go the way Scott had?

"I think he should stay." All eyes turned, surprisingly, to Bobby. "What?" He asked. "He should. He deserves another chance, and since he woke up, he hasn't been at all hostile or violent. He's been cooperating with Hank… I don't see why not. He could help us." He shrugged.

The room was silent, and the grandfather clock's ticking seemed like a metronome, beating in each other their head's. Each person was struggling; some with the fierce anger in their hearts, others with suffocating guilt. Another moment passed, and then Logan spoke up.

"I'm fine if he stays, but if he moves one toe out of line, I won't be held responsible for my actions." He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at John, who turned his gaze to the floor like a kicked puppy.

Scott stayed silent as the others began to discuss the fine points of John being able to stay, watching the young man through his sunglasses, glad for the ability to observe without being noticed. John stood with a slumped posture, a far cry from the arrogant teenager he'd once been. His hair fell in a tattered curtain over his face, and Scott's heart broke as he swore he saw a single, miniscule tear slide down John's face at the condemnation and anger he felt in the room, though he knew he deserved it. Scott watched as John's hand tentatively rose and his fingers took hold of a small patch of Emily's shirt in the back. He tugged slightly on it, getting her attention, though she pretended to be enthralled in the conversation. John's hand slowly moved down and he touched her fingers, silently asking permission. Emily looked down, hesitantly touching her fingers to his, and he held her fingers in the palm on his hand.

"Scott, what do you think?" Marie asked, noticing he had been completely silent the entire time.

"I agree; he should stay. Shelter, room… everything he needs. He should be accepted back, and perhaps in time, and if he wishes it, as a full X-Man. There's no reason he shouldn't be given a true second chance, even if he has done wrong." During his entire speech, his eyes did not leave John's face.

John looked up and met Scott's eyes. At first, Pyro's face was shocked, surprised… even wondering if Scott had another agenda in mind. Slowly, his shock turned to respect and open gratitude. John nodded, his brown eyes full of thankfulness. Scott nodded in return.

"Well, I do believe that settles it." Ororo glanced around at the rest of the X-Men. "Unless anyone has any objections?" She looked pointedly at her boyfriend, who grunted and shrugged, leaving the room.

Charles nodded. "Very well. John… would you stay behind and chat with an old man?" He asked, though the steely glint in his eyes did not seem to belong to an old, kindly grandfather. "I will see you all later at dinner." He dismissed the X-Men, and they followed Logan's lead and left the room.

John looked down at Emily and mourned the warmth of her fingers as she walked away, giving him a small glance over her shoulder as she followed Alyssa out of the room. He turned back to face the Professor, awkward to be back in his principal's office. He met Xavier's eyes as he lowered himself into a seat, sitting up straight, though he quickly dropped his eyes to the ground.

"What did you want to speak to me about, Professor?"

Charles was astounded by the change in John's voice. It was still obviously John Allerdyce, but there was an almost defeated grief in it. There was no trace of arrogance or cockiness in his entire being, and instead of talking almost too loud, this John spoke quietly, as if the silence was too fragile to be broken with crassness.

"You know you have done much wrong," A nod. "And you cannot hope to be forgiven immediately by your old classmates and teachers." Another nod, and John's shoulders seemed to crumble underneath the invisible weight of his guilt. "But I hope you know, John, that you have done a great thing."

John looked up. "What do you mean? I haven't done anything. I haven't even told anyone…" He exhaled in amusement when Charles tapped his temple. "Oh, yeah, that. So you understand?"

"Not completely." Xavier admitted. "How did you come to the realization you needed to be back here?"

John sighed, looking away from Charles' loving, accepting gaze. He shrugged. "I don't really know. It had been in my mind for a couple of years, the thought of coming back. I always laughed it off, reminding myself that you guys didn't do anything useful. But then there was this moment where I kind of hated myself for everything I'd been doing. Sure, burning things was fun, but not when you can't control yourself anymore. I didn't know what to do, though. One dude, couple years back, tried to leave after he killed someone. He was real guilty and I saw him cry himself to sleep once. Felt bad for him, but of course, I laughed at him like everyone else. One day, he was gone. Just up and ran. Magneto wasn't too pleased about that. He sent Juggernaut out, and he came back with the guy's body, and his legs and arms were ripped off… but he was still alive. Magneto taunted him until the guy finally died."

John shuddered, paling at the memory. He ran a hand over his face, his hands visibly shaking. "I just don't know what he's going to do to me if I don't go back. I don't want to go back, but he'll track me down. I'll put all of you in danger. Can't really go back, though." He added as an afterthought. "He would probably hurt me because I went with you guys." He sighed, frustrated. "I just don't have any choices except to off myself." He growled. He looked up. "Not that I would, but…"

"I understand, John." Charles put a hand up. "If you feel you should return, we would not stop you. That is your decision. But we are offering you an alternative. If you return, Magneto would hurt you. If you stay, you have several skilled protectors and all of your necessities will be met. And," A teasing look appeared in his eyes. "You have the one person you've been waiting to see."

Charles would never speak of it, but he was sure he saw a trace of a blush on John Allerdyce's face. "Well… um…" He sputtered. "Oh hell, it's true." He admitted, a small grin on his face. "I did want to see her. How has she been, Professor? We haven't really talked much, just sat together. I've missed her like hell. I was too angry to think of her for a while, but then I couldn't stop. She was my only friend."

Charles chuckled, amused. "She has been doing very well for herself. She's teaching, and going to school at NYU with Alyssa. All in all, she's becoming quite the young woman. You'd be surprised, John. She's really grown up."

John nodded, a lingering smile playing at his lips. "Yeah. Yeah… she has." He shook his head, quickly changing the subject. "So, what happens when Magneto comes for me, if he does?"

"We will make sure the children are safe, that being our first priority. Scott will round up the X-Men and try to draw the battle away from the school." Xavier's answer was guarded and purposefully vague, and John didn't miss this.

"I guess I deserved that." John muttered with a shrug. "Well, at least there's a plan." He looked down at the floor. "Professor… thank you. I know you didn't have to let me come back, but you did anyway. I really need this second chance, and I promise I won't blow it. I'll do everything to win back your trust because I'm ready to do this… to be an X-Man, even if I have to wear the suit." He glanced up with a mischievous grin.

Charles nodded. "Thank you, John. I'm glad you understand this great gift that has been given to you. You may go. I'll have Scott show you to a room."

"Why Mr. Summers?" John asked as he was about to open the door to leave.

"I'm sure you don't want Logan to." Charles' voice held a note of amusement.

John grinned. "Yeah. Thanks." He closed the door behind him softly, careful not to slam it.

**XXX**

Scott opened up the door to the dark room and peered in, flicking on the light switch. He walked in and inspected the place quickly. He turned back to the young man who had been following him and nodded. "This should be fine."

"Thanks." John said quietly, walking into the room and sitting down on the bed. "Uh, hey, Mr. Summers?"

"Yeah?"

John fidgeted slightly. "Thank you. And I mean that, seriously." He stood up and looked Scott straight in the eye, though his gaze was not piercing or intimidating. They were merely meeting eyes so Scott could read his emotions openly. "I… I know I could never make up for everything I've done, but thank you. You're a bigger person than I could ever be, still so… accepting." John broke the gaze and fixed his stare on the carpet, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott placed his hands on both of John's shoulders and met the other man's eyes again. "I forgive you." He gave John a small smile. "Believe me, I know better than most the profound effect of second chances. I needed one myself, and I got it. I didn't want you to miss out on what your life could be simply because you had hurt some people." He dropped his hands and smiled broadly. "You think you'll be okay here?"

John nodded, subdued by his former teacher's words. "Yeah, it's nice." He looked around. "Do I have curfew or can I go hang out?" He asked, slight laughter in his voice.

"Well, I'm sure Emily will keep an eye on you." Scott shrugged, smiled once more and then left John alone.

**XXX**

Logan slammed the door behind him as he followed Ororo into her office. She turned around, an eyebrow raised at her boyfriend's rare violent behavior. She gratefully collapsed onto the small loveseat she kept in her office for the quick naps she needed when she was up late doing her work. She laid her head on the soft green throw pillow and let out a sigh of relief. Finally, she was away from the drama that had been caused with a well-known Brotherhood mutant taking up residence in the mansion. She hadn't slept since Logan had woken her up in the middle of the night, telling her they needed to go, and now, it was nearly three in the morning. And yet, she couldn't sleep because she knew she and Logan needed to talk.

"What's wrong, Logan?" She asked softly, her eyes watching the Wolverine pace back and forth in front of her.

"The damn kid…" He growled. "He hurt Marie bad when he left, and broke Emily's heart. You know how I feel about the damn kids. I love them all so much it hurts me to see any of them in any kind of pain. And all of them, sniffling over that ass… it killed me. And now he's back and we're supposed to welcome him back with open arms?" He looked at the small empty vase on Ororo's desk, staring at it, as if considering throwing it across the room.

Ororo nodded. "I know what you mean. I understand how you feel, because I feel the same way." She sat up. "Come here."

Logan reluctantly sat down beside her and allowed his girlfriend to lean against him, wrapping her arms around him. He relaxed into her embrace and touched his cheek to the top of her head.

"Listen, Logan," She sighed. "I guess we're going to have to work at this, you know? I think Scott made the right decision. We gave Scott a second chance, and he had done some pretty shady stuff too. John knows what he did was wrong, and seems committed to making it right. I bet he'd let you beat the crap out of him if you asked." She looked up at him with a grin on her face.

"Really?" Logan grinned back. "Well then, I suppose having him back wouldn't be too bad." He paused, letting the humor pass. "I just don't want him to screw this up. Especially for Emily… I could smell all of the… I'm not sure what it was. She was afraid that we would send him away, and then at one point, all of that went away. She was completely at peace." He shook his head. "He's so destructive."

"I seem to recall someone else who, once, might have been described in the same way." Ororo began contemplatively. "Now, he's a well-respected teacher and is fighting for what he knows is right. He's learned to control himself, and his only intention is to protect his students and his friends. He's in a good relationship with a good woman, and everything seems to be laid out in front of him. Bad things may come along, but he doesn't run anymore. He turns and fights. He wins, most of the time. When he doesn't, he lets his girlfriend pick up the pieces and help him. He knows when to be destructive and when to build." She turned her face to Logan's and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth."

Logan turned to catch her lips against his. "You're right." He admitted grudgingly. "But if he leaves and hurts all of them kids again, I swear I will…"

Ororo laughed and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Yes, yes, we know! You're the big, bad, scary Wolverine who will slice and dice him to shreds!" She giggled and kissed him once more. "Now take me to my room!" She ordered, depositing herself into his lap.

Logan laughed and picked her up, bridal style and entered the dark hallways. He spun around, making her giggle and have to stifle her shrieks of excitement. She clung to him, pressing her face into his shoulder and relaxing. She trusted him to carry her to her room and leave her there, respecting both her and himself by sticking to his inner moral code of honor, something he'd unconsciously picked up from Scott, who hadn't "sexed" Jean up until they had gotten engaged. Ororo would never tell him he was acting like Scott. She kind of liked this tamed Logan who knew who he was, what he needed, and what he could do to help the world. She giggled and kissed Logan once on the lips when he set her down inside her dark room.

They hadn't been dating for long, so it came as a surprise when Logan whispered, "Ororo?"

"Yeah, Logan?" She asked, kicking her shoes off.

"I love you."

The only light came from the hallway, so his face was shrouded. "What?" Her voice was breathless. "What did you just say?" She demanded."

"I love you." Logan took her hand, almost shy in her presence. "I really do. Have, for a while. Just never got the courage to tell you."

Ororo placed a hand over her mouth, completely shocked. She had had feelings for him for years, and had always maintained a small crush from when he first arrived, but had been enthralled with Jean. Their relationship was complicated, considering they were both teachers and would have to see each other everyday if they broke up. But somehow, that hadn't seemed like them. Ororo was never one for overthinking things or looking too far into the future, and it didn't even seem right that she do so. But she and Logan were different. They understood each other in a way no one else could, even when they had just been friends.

Logan and Ororo stared at each other for one long moment, until Ororo whispered in an almost frightened way, "I love you too."

"You know you don't have to say it." Logan assured her, touching her cheek gently.

"I know." Her tone hadn't changed. "But I do. Everything's been so crazy lately that I didn't realize it until you reminded me. I… wow, Logan, I love you." She stood on her tip-toes to kiss him firmly.

They kissed for a long moment until they broke away. "I should go." Logan muttered.

Ororo nodded, slightly blown away by the passion in their kiss. "Yeah, you probably should."

"I'll see you tomorrow." He promised as he stepped out into the hall.

Ororo smiled. "I love you." She whispered as she closed the door.

Logan smiled at the closed the door, letting out a long breath, as though Ororo's warm, loving arms were still around him, comforting him. Things couldn't possibly be too bad as long as he loved her, and she loved him. Yeah, not too bad at all.


	20. Say Goodbye, Say Hello

**This is a pretty sentimental chapter, so I hope you enjoy! Oh, the song that inspired this chapter is "Until I Get Over You" by Christina Millian. GREAT song. If you want to listen to it, download legally. Because people who do legal stuff are cool. So be cool.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Emily Rachery. Alyssa, however, is mine. I don't know why you'd take her, though.**

It was time. Scott waited in the kitchen, the bouquet he'd ordered online sitting on the table in front of him, until the last sounds of children getting to class faded away into the distance. He stared at the roses and found it hard to contain his emotions already. He was biting hard on his bottom lip, trying to remain composed. When he was out there, and his back was turned towards the school, he could let it all come out finally. It wouldn't be the last time he cried for Jean, but he was ready.

He took a deep breath, picked up the roses and adjusted the two books that were in his arms. The books were Jean's journal and their photo album that Ororo had put together. He hadn't touched them since Christmas, but he'd woken up that morning and realized this was something he needed to do for himself, to put his relationship with Jean to rest. She would live on in his heart, and he would never forget her. He couldn't imagine going a day without thinking of her and feeling tears well up. Someday, he'd be able to think of her and not cry so much, but that day was far in the future. But now, he was ready to move on and ready to become who he was supposed to be, not continue wishing to give all of his future for one day of his past. He missed her, of course. He would never stop missing her. But he was still alive.

Scott went outside, the sun warming his skin, and walked to the one place he had not dared to go since he had returned: Jean's grave. He turned a corner and paused in his steps, staring at it. There wasn't any inscription. Just an X and her name. Another's fiancé might have protested and stormed angrily up to the Professor, but he couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. Those two things spoke so profoundly to those who had known her. His heart lightened by this sight, he continued towards the gravestone and sat down in front of it.

"Hey Jean," He whispered, tears beginning to fill his eyes. He blinked them away. "I'm really sorry I haven't come here sooner, I just couldn't. I know you understand, though." He smiled. "You always do. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do without you; you were a really huge part of my life. It's hard to even think about moving on, but I've done a lot of thinking lately, and I'm still alive. I need to do this for me, because you're not here anymore. You know, Ororo gave me your journal. Hope you're not mad or anything," He chuckled at the thought of Jean being mad over something so trivial.

Scott shifted and turned so his back was leaning against Jean's gravestone. "I haven't really looked at it. It's been really hard, and lately it's been pretty busy. Magneto's been causing some trouble, and John Allerdyce came back. Would you believe it? He's really changed. You'd be proud of him. I think if they're not careful, he and Bobby will actually become friends again." He laughed out loud at the thought of the two mature young men being friends, but knew it wasn't an impossibility. He sighed, looking up at the blue sky.

"Its really beautiful today, Jean. I think something's up with Ororo and Logan, because she's been in a really good mood lately. Yeah… Ororo and Logan. I know. I think they're good for each other, though," He crossed his arms over his chest contemplatively, the books balancing in his lap. "They compliment each other well. He's really good to her, and I know if you were here, you'd seriously beat him down if he did anything, so don't worry. I'll do it for you." He smirked, feeling quite feral. The smirk faded quickly.

"I don't blame you, Jean." He whispered. "I know I wasn't the perfect fiancé, but I also know it's not completely my fault. I'm trying my best to forgive him, now that you're gone, but it's so hard. All I see when I close my eyes is you and him, and it's killing me. I just don't know what to do anymore."

"I know you'd get a laugh out of this, but I think I'm beginning to believe there's more to the world." He switched subjects randomly, completely at ease, as if Jean was actually there with him, listening patiently. "Yeah, and I've been thinking about death a lot, especially since you're gone. I haven't really decided, but… okay, I'm lying. I'm already a believer. There's definitely a God, and definitely some love out there. I haven't done a lot of… you know, praying or anything, but I think I'm going to ask Kurt for a little help. He seems so sure of himself, and I keep having these moments… like the kind you used to tell me about when you'd just be sitting, and then you'd feel as though love was completely consuming you."

Scott dropped his arms to his sides, reaching for the photo album. He turned it to the first page, choking up once more. "I can't believe we never got to be together. We both wanted it so much, but there was always something, but then there wasn't. I'm terrified, Jean." He whispered to the cold stone. "You left me, too. I don't know if everyone else will, too. They say they won't, but I don't believe them. You said you'd never leave me, but you're not here anymore." Tears quickly fell down his face as he grieved for the little boy who just wanted to be held, who just couldn't grow up, no matter how he tried to act like he had. He was scared, and he was alone, and he didn't know what to do about it.

He turned to the next page, laughing out loud through his tears as he saw the wacky, goofy pictures of their youth. He traced their faces, shaking his head in amusement. Ororo had gone through a photography phase and had taken pictures of everyone and everything. There was him and Jean at the movie theater, at the mall, down by the lake. He and Jean cuddling in the couch, her completely asleep on his shoulder and him watching the TV blankly. He and Jean were laughing as Warren got a face full of mud. He and Jean slow-dancing to something in the game room. Jean looked like a princess as she dressed up for a friend's wedding.

"Oh God!" Scott burst out laughing. There was a picture of him and Warren, 'rocking out' to something in the game room. They were both shirtless, having tossed their shirts across the room, pretending to be rock stars. Warren's eyes were closed and he was on his knees, his fist up in the air. Scott was still standing, but his hands were too occupied playing air guitar to notice anyone else was around. "Jean, I cannot believe Ororo saw this! I can't believe you found out about it, either!"

His laughter eventually faded as he turned through the photo album. It was like watching time pass in front of his eyes. The sun still shone ahead, but he was in completely different world and time. He saw him and Jean coming back from their first, second and third dates, pigging out with Ororo late at night, cuddling on every available couch and chair… he shook his head as his heart ached at the bittersweet nature of all of the pictures.

"I can't believe she kept this…" Scott breathed as he looked down at a page of pictures.

_When Scott was twenty, the Professor had had some important friends at the mansion and would be throwing a party. Everyone had gone shopping to find the perfect outfit, and the mansion's staff was in an uproar. There had been several near misses, but everything had turned out perfectly and the party went off without a hitch. There had been music floating around in the backyard, where the soiree had been set. A small band had been hired and they played soft, romantic tunes throughout the night. _

_Scott and Jean were sitting at one of the tables, simply enjoying themselves and staying out of the way. They were slightly worried for Warren who had declined to come, terrified of the thought of his father finding out he had been seen with his wings. Despite concern for their friend, they couldn't help but enjoy the night under the stars._

"_Hey Jean," Scott got her attention. _

"_Yeah, Scott?" She turned to him with a dazzling smile._

_For a moment, Scott forgot how to breathe, and it took him a second to remember how. When he regained control over his respiratory system, he gave her a grin. "You want to dance?"_

_Jean cast a worried eye over the designated dance floor. "Oh, you think so?"_

"_Of course!" He exclaimed, standing up, careful not to wrinkle his tuxedo. "Come on! You look so pretty sitting there, but you look prettier dancing." He grabbed her hand, helping her up._

_Jean blushed, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, but followed him out to the dance floor._

_Scott held her close for several long moments, and then pulled away slightly. "I love you, Jean."_

"_I love you too, Scott." She gave him a contented smile, before laughing. "You look so cute!" _

_It was Scott's turn to blush, but he focused back on her face more seriously, leaning in close. Their lips were a mere breath away, and he was sure he heard a familiar camera snap a picture, but he was too focused on his beautiful girlfriend to really care, and he kissed her._

The page of pictures was a collage of that night. Jean was sitting alone, waiting for him to return with their drinks. Then there was one of him taking her over to the dance floor, and then another one of them dancing. The one that caught his eye was the picture of him leaning in to kiss her, her eyes already closed, expecting it, and his hand was on the side of her neck. She had looked so beautiful that night in the black strapless dress she'd chosen with a small red flower in her hair to match the red bowtie she'd chosen for him, and his sunglasses. He remembered feeling like a freak, the only one wearing sunglasses at a soiree, but she'd merely laughed and kissed his nose, telling him he looked adorable. Nothing like a confidence boost from your super hot girlfriend.

The pictures continued through their years together, but he couldn't stop the tears that fell down his face at the sight of the last page. There was only one picture; he and Jean were standing in front of the mansion in each other's arm. Below it was one date, the year they'd gotten together with a dash. There was no second year to record the year of her death.

There were two passages below the dates.

_Scott Summers, you are the only man I will ever love. I promise to be faithful to you and you alone, through all of my years. We have laughed and we have loved, through all of the hard times. We have not allowed anything to rip us apart, though at times it has seemed the entire world was trying. I give myself to you for the rest of our days together. I love you, Scott. _

_ Jean Summers_

_Jean, you are so beautiful, and I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. There is no one more patient, more understanding or more loving than you. I promise to never forsake you, to always be the one at your side. I will stand by you, and choose you above all others. I am yours, and I am the most blessed man alive to have been chosen by you. I love you, Jean._

_ Scott Summers_

Scott had the close the photo album and put it aside before he stained the pages. He brought his legs up to his chest and laid his arms across his knees and sobbed. He remembered Ororo asking him for his vows, telling him something about recording them, and he'd rolled his eyes, but given them to her anyway. He had had no idea that she was going to get Jean's as well. 

He wasn't sure how long he stayed out there, and he simply cried. He cried for the loss of his beloved Jean, the only woman to walk into his life and become his life. He wept because he wasn't sure he could move on, though he didn't want to be a slave to his past. He sobbed because Jean's words were so beautiful, and they took any doubt away of her heart. She had loved him. She was faithful to him. Her heart had been his. There was no reason for stupid jealousy because Logan had kissed her last. He had kissed her a million times and had made love with her a thousand times since they had gotten engaged. He had held her when she needed to be loved, and she sheltered him when his painful past seemed to overtake him on his worst days. They had been there for each other, through all of the good times and all of the bad. Nothing had ever taken them down.

Scott eventually opened up her diary and read every single entry, laughing at the hilarious tales of her life and crying when she wrote down her hurts. He cherished the ability to read her thoughts, as she'd done with him many times. It had never bothered him that she was a telepath and he wasn't, but this was such a rare blessing. Not many men got to read their fiancée's journal from their teenage days.

Another hour or so passed, but then he was done. He stood up, the roses still clutched in his sweaty palm. He sighed, and then knelt back down. He laid the roses down and placed a hand on her gravestone.

"Jean, I love you so much, and I always will. You will always be on my mind and in my heart. I will never forget you. I just… I love you so much, but I need to move on. I don't want to hear voices and think you're there and be tortured. I don't know what else I can say. I love you." He whispered, leaning forward to brush a kiss to the cold stone. "Bye. I'll come back and talk sometime." He stood back up and stared at the gravestone until he was all cried out.

When his tears were finished, he fished a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose, walking back into the mansion. He still hurt from her death. It was impossible to completely be healed from such a loss. Scott was a changed man from when he walked to her gravestone and when he walked back into the mansion. He still loved her. He still missed her. But he was okay with living without her. He'd find a way to survive.

**XXX**

Emily Rachery wasn't sure what to make of herself anymore. On one hand, she was a complete mess. She'd actually… oh God, she'd killed people, hadn't she? She wasn't sure how that had happened, considering her claws were miniscule in comparison to Logan's. She knew she had, though. She couldn't stop crying unless she was in front of her students or in class. Alyssa understood, but she just couldn't talk to her best friend. This was something she felt she had to work through by herself.

On the other hand, she had never felt more joyful. She woke up in the mornings and remembered that John was _**back**_. She was still afraid of him and didn't know what to say to him anymore. She had had planned a whole speech for him, but whenever she saw him, she couldn't say it. This wasn't the same John she'd known as a kid, but at the same time, it was the John she'd had a few glimpses of, and had wanted to get to know. It was a shock to be around him and see him quietly thanking the small girl who had given him the remote, instead of demanding it. It was so weird to have him pull open doors for her and make sure she was completely comfortable. She liked the gentlemanly behavior, and it wasn't that it wasn't like him, it was that he was too careful. Oh, he'd been a jerk when he'd been careless, but it was strange.

Emily sighed as she walked down the grand staircase into the foyer at lunchtime. All of the students were bustling around in the dining room, eating and hollering and enjoying themselves. As a teacher, she probably should make sure Ricky and Taylor weren't trying to drown any poor kind in mayonnaise, but she headed to the kitchen. She wasn't sure she could deal with having to put on a good face for all of these kids who didn't remember John clearly.

But, of course, the moment she walked in, John looked up from where he was sitting at the island with a sandwich and a root beer. She gave him an awkward smile, and found herself a can of tuna. She sat beside him, giggling as he rolled his eyes theatrically when she opened the can.

"You're just jealous." She teased him quietly.

"Of what?" He beamed at her teasing words. He tugged gently on her ears. "These things? I don't think so, kitty kitty."

Emily sniffed arrogantly. "Don't deny it."

John grinned, laughing as he turned back to his sandwich. "All right, all right. I am jealous because I wish I could have ears like yours and the need to eat really gross food. There, I said it!" They laughed together, but the silence prevailed in the end, and they both looked to their food, searching for words.

"So, how have you been?" Emily asked, glancing over at him.

"Um, okay, I guess." He shrugged. "Everyone's been pretty nice to me, which I don't get, except Logan. He looks like he really, really wants to threat me with his claws. Except Miss Munroe's always around, so he follows her around." He stuffed a small piece of his sandwich into his mouth. "He's totally whipped." He spoke around the mouthful.

Emily giggled. "I think it's kind of sweet." She glanced at him. "But he really is." She smiled at him. "John?" She asked, feeling awkward again.

"Yeah?" He turned his attention to her, though he looked like he was trying to drain his entire root beer in one gulp. 

"I really missed you." She admitted, her hands in her lap, staring down at her tuna, her appetite suddenly gone.

John put down his root beer bottle and pushed away his sandwich abruptly, causing Emily to look at him in shock. He turned to her on the stool, staring at the hardwood floors in shame. He looked so pitiful, as if he'd just been kicked with the news someone died, that she had the insane feminine urge to hug him.

"I know." He whispered. "I'm really sorry. I screwed up bad, but now I'm here, and I'm trying to make things right. I know better than you do that you don't have to be nice to me. I'd understand welcome it if you wanted to scratch the hell out of me, but for the life of me, I can't understand why you won't." He looked up at her with these words.

Emily felt tears well up in her eyes as she stared back at him. She'd been really angry at him at first, trying to get a reaction out of him. It was always easier to hate someone when they hated you back, but he only ever acted repentant and guilty, completely ashamed of his horrible actions. She couldn't hate him. She found herself wanting to make sure he was all right, and force a sandwich down his throat if he wouldn't eat. She often found herself up at night, wondering if he was fast asleep. She cared so much about him that it hurt to think he might bolt again at the first sign of something better.

"I just can't. I wanted to, but now… I guess I don't. I haven't forgiven you yet, but I really missed you. We were friends, and then you were gone. No warning, no goodbye, no anything. And then we find you on that field, completely unhurt except for a hit to the head. Now you're completely fine, and I don't know what to do." She sighed, her ears twitching slightly in agitation. "You're here, and you're completely sorry! You're so different, and it's weird to hear you apologizing!"

John cracked a grin. "I can always go back to being a badass if it would make you happy." He teased her.

"Oh God, no, thank you." She teased back. Her teasing mood quickly faded away when she abruptly stood up in front of him.

Emily leaned over quickly and wrapped him up in a hug. "I'm really glad you're back, John." She had intended to draw herself away and then run, but he stood up as well, his arms tightening gently around her waist.

John was the first to pull away, and he looked down at her. "Thanks, Emily." He grinned. "You've always been a really great friend, even though I wasn't."

"Thanks." She blushed slightly.

"So, tell me what you and Alyssa have been up to all of these years." John requested as they both sat back down on their stools.

Emily shrugged, turning to her tuna and picking at it. "Well, we both graduated, and then headed off to college, we're going to NYU right now…"

The two old friends sat at the counter for several hours, recounting stories of the years they had been parted, and laughing at old jokes and tales of their shared time at the Institute. Not all gaps had been mended, but John Allerdyce would do anything and everything he could to earn her trust again. No one else really mattered, because she was the one who had showed him he mattered when he really needed it. John was determined to show her he was worthy of her kindness and gentleness, simply because, underneath his guilt and shame, there was real love for her. He would protect her at all costs, even at the cost of his own life. She had saved him. He didn't want to kiss her or take her virginity or even date her. However, he would stand by her even when everyone else had abandoned them. He would never abandon her again.


	21. The Friends of Their Race

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own the X-Men, I GET IT!**

Somehow (and she didn't know why) Alyssa Earnest had been coerced into going to see a movie with Emily and John. Oh, she wasn't John's biggest fan, but she didn't hate him, and Emily WAS her best friend, after all, so it only seemed normal that she'd go to a movie with them. She did like movies and watched them all of the time on days she didn't have class, but she just didn't like romantic comedies. She just wasn't a big fan to the public eye because she didn't like all the gushy, gooey-eyed girls that fangirled over the cute lead. She hated seeing romantic comedies with other people because then it proved she was just as big of a fangirl as the rest of them.

She pouted in her chair the entire time until the really cute lead came out. Then she settled into her chair, a tub of popcorn in her lap, and Emily and John to her right. To her left was some really smelly football player who kept eyeing her. He probably didn't see many good-looking girls who weren't sitting by another guy. He probably thought she was lonely, going to a movie with another couple. Okay, ew. She wasn't about to leave Emily alone with John. Not because she didn't necessarily trust him (but she didn't), of course. She went with them mostly to make sure John didn't start any trouble, though that seemed hardly unlikely, due to the fact he was probably the most humble, gentle guy in the room, pyromania aside.

Alyssa deftly wiped a tear from her eye as the credits came onto the screen, and she and Emily and John filed out of the theater. "That was a sucky movie." She complained.

Emily laughed. "Yeah. Whatever." She gave Alyssa a little push.

Alyssa rolled her eyes, but immediately softened when John held the door open for the both of them, and two old ladies who were walking behind them. She laughed as John handed the door off to a couple who looked like they were on their first date, and the guy was hoping to impress his lady. Good luck there, buddy.

"What did you think of the movie, John?" Alyssa asked him in a too-sweet tone.

"Oh, it was crap. I mean, the lead dude needs his head blown off, and the other guy who was going for the really needy girl needs to blow his romantic shit out his ass." John said as if he was reciting something from a piece of paper.

Alyssa beamed. "Ah, now there's the John I know. I was frightened, thinking you were actually a froofy, sensitive gentleman. Thank you." She placed a hand over her heart, laughing. Emily giggled as well.

John shook his head at the girls and then marched on towards the Toyota Camry Mr. Summers had grudgingly given over to their care. It wasn't his favorite car, but it was still a car, and cars were not to be trusted to teenagers. It was only when Professor Xavier promised to buy him a smaller model of the Blackbird did he shut up and go do… something.

Emily dug into her pocket to find the key and then froze. Oh God, Mr. Summers was going to kill her. He was actually going to kill her. And then he'd get killed by Logan because he'd killed one of the students. Oh God, she was so dead! She quickly checked all of her other pockets, slowly turning to face Alyssa and John.

"What's wrong?" Alyssa asked, her face darkening with dread.

"I… lost the key." Emily whispered, her face clearly saying what she didn't think was appropriate to utter: Oh shit. "Do either of you have a cell phone? Oh, Mr. Summers is going to kill me! I'm so dead! I'm so dead! I promised him that I'd give him the keys back the moment we got back to the mansion!"

Alyssa took her purse from off her shoulder and fished through the cluttered mess for her phone. She searched more wildly when it wasn't in its special little holder. She looked up at the others.

"Oh crap, I don't have it. I was sure I brought it with me! It was on my laptop because I texted one of my friends as I was working on my term paper. Oh my God!" She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, needing to take a deep breath as she felt her shirt start to get wet. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She muttered as Emily looked at her questioningly.

John shrugged. "There's a pay phone right over there, I've got some change in my pocket." He and the girls started to walk over to the pay phone when John's arm was grabbed.

It was a tall, slender man, someone who Alyssa and Emily might have thought was cute if not for the horrible scar on his right cheek and the fact he was as pale as a sheet. Obviously an unfriendly human who had seen Emily's ears, or their nightmares of vampires had actually come true. Alyssa was hoping it was the first one. They could fight a normal human being off if they had to. But unless John had some holy water on him or Emily had a stake hidden underneath her sweatshirt, they were so screwed if it was a vampire.

"Looking for these?" He asked casually, holding up Alyssa's cell phone and the Toyota keys.

"Hey man, come on, give them back." John was obviously agitated, but he managed to rein it in well.

"I don't think so." The man smiled condescendingly, pulling the keys and phone away from John as he tried to grab for them.

"Oh, that's cute, man." John's voice was slightly darker and he reached for his lighter.

Emily stopped him. "John, don't." She hissed, keeping his hand locked in his.

John looked down at her, and then sighed, accepting defeat. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a small step forward, putting himself between the person and Emily and Alyssa.

"Dude, what do you want?" He asked, bored of this stupid game. "Why don't you just chill out, give us our stuff, and we can all go home?"

"Well, see, there's where the problem is." The person began, almost contemplatively. "You won't be going home. Boys!" He called.

John, Emily and Alyssa whirled around, looking for their adversaries. Almost immediately, they were completely surrounded. Alyssa created several balls of ice in her hands and levitated them so they were eye-level with her. Emily steadied herself and readied her claws. John stuck his hand casually in his pocket and fished out his Zippo lighter. He flicked it open, feeling the familiar rush of fire flow through him.

"Why do you just leave us alone, and we won't have to take you all down one by one?" Alyssa asked, attempting to take on the manner she had seen Cyclops use in battle. He was absolutely in control. He chose his words beforehand and used them to his greatest advantage. Only after words were found to be useless would he attack, but then, he would attack at full force.

The thugs around them laughed and started to close in. John attempted to blast them with fire, but his arm was grabbed in a vice-like grip and a syringe sunk into his elbow. Moments later, he fell to the ground, as if dead. Emily screamed, but she was subdued as well. Alyssa was the only one left and all thoughts of being like the X-Men she admired left her. Her fight or flight instinct kicked in, and she chose flight. She sprinted through the parking lot, dodging through the rows of cars, looking over her shoulder frequently to see where her enemies were. Her breathing was ragged and harsh, but she was so close to the street.

Alyssa screamed as a heavy body crashed into hers, and laid on the ground, stunned. She felt something warm trickle down her chin and she groaned. She began to struggle as best as she could through the daze of getting tackled into the ground, but she whimpered as a needle was inserted into the her arm, and she was out.

**XXX**

Ororo walked into the foyer to see Scott and Logan bantering back and forth about some useless subject. Logan grabbed Scott by the front of his t-shirt and seemed about to unsheathe his claws when he spotted his girlfriend. He dropped the smaller man and put on a winning smile.

"Hey, 'Ro." Logan greeted, kissing her as Scott got up and made a face.

"You guys are gross." He muttered, but smiled at Ororo as well. "Hey Ororo, what's going on?" He asked casually.

"Emily, Alyssa and John haven't gotten back yet, and I'm worried. It's almost ten o'clock, and the movie was at seven." Ororo crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you guys seen them?"

"No, not since I gave them the car." Scott's face was suddenly stricken. "What if they hurt my car?" He fought the urge to squeal, but he was still very, very concerned for his car.

Logan rolled his eyes. "They probably just went to get something to eat. You have Alyssa's phone, and she never goes anywhere without it. Call her, if you're so worried." He passed his cell phone to Ororo, who quickly dialed the number.

"Hello?" Ororo spoke into the phone. "I'm sorry, I'm looking for my friend, Alyssa, and this is her phone number… oh, sorry. My mistake. Yes, you too. Goodbye." She managed to keep her voice somewhat normal, though she grew steadily more frightened throughout the entire call.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't dial the wrong number. Someone has Alyssa's phone." Ororo took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "I'm sure she simply lost it… but why hadn't the person said they simply found the phone?"

Logan took the phone from Ororo's hand and put an arm around her. "I'm sure those kids are fine. Alyssa and Emily are X-Men, after all, and John damn well knows that if he screws up, my claws are going to rip him a new one." He had a slightly animalistic gleam in his eye for merely a moment, and then it passed. He was Logan again.

Scott looked around the foyer. "I don't have a good feeling about this. John would be doing everything in his power to make sure he stays in our good graces. Alyssa and Emily are both very responsible, too. Maybe we're too worried, since they're all adults and have every right to get something to eat or do something fun after a movie, but the girls know they have responsibilities and would have been back by now." He focused on his teammates and friends. "We should wait an hour, until eleven-oh-five. If they're not back by then, we figure out a plan."

Ororo nodded. "Alright, Scott. I'll meet you both back here then." She kissed Logan, and then left the two men by themselves.

"I'm worried about those three." Logan muttered.

"Me too." Scott murmured in return.

"You think they're alright?" Logan turned to the door and glanced out the small window into the clear night.

Scott shook his head. "I don't know, Logan. I hope so, but I think we might have a rescue mission on our hands." He clapped Logan on the back. "I'll see you in an hour. I'm going to go make preparations. I don't have a good feeling about this."

**XXX**

John groaned as he finally came to, though everything was blurry and fuzzy. He was laying on a cold, hard surface, and he moaned as his head began to pound. He curled up as tightly as he could into a ball, shivering from the lack of blankets tucked around his body. He cracked his eyes open as the headache began to pass, and sat up. He was in a concrete holding cell of some type. It was one small room, barely big enough for the three metal beds that were squished together at the far end from the door. There was a small window above the middle bed, but beyond that, it was concrete.

"Emily? Alyssa?" He called to their unmoving forms.

"Mmmm… John?" Emily whispered, whimpering as she, too, felt the headache begin. John rubbed his eyes and saw her cat ears poking up from the middle bed.

John moved from his bed to hers easily, seeing as how there was only three inches between the metal frames. He sat up against the cold concrete wall, still shivering. He didn't bother to look for his lighter. He knew it was gone. Hesitantly, he brought her head up slightly and put it on his thigh, making something of a pillow for her.

"God, my butt's cold." He complained, feeling, rather than hearing, her chuckle against him. John once again surveyed the stark room. Scant metal frames for beds, no pillows, blankets or mattresses. All he could really say, considering he'd been in much worse, was that he hoped there was a separate lavatory facility. 'Cause he was not going in front of two girls!

"I hurt." Alyssa mumbled childishly as she began to wake up. "Emily? John?!" She exclaimed, her words garbled by the aftereffects of whatever drug had been pumped into them. She forced herself to sit upright, looking around the room, letting out a relieved sigh when she saw her two friends. "Uhhhhhnnnngggg…" She groaned as she slid back down into a sleeping position.

Emily lifted her head from his leg and, with John's help, sat next to him, her back against the wall. She blinked several times, her ears twitching in agitation. She was not fond of small spaces, and was struck with a strong urge to attack the walls with her claws in her fear. She massaged her face, letting out a sigh. Soon, Alyssa was in the same position, and the three friends sat on Emily's bed together.

"I hate this." John muttered, glaring at the solid door. "They took my fucking lighter!" He growled, using his anger as a shield. He was completely helpless. He was a shrimp compared to most other men, and he wasn't very strong either. Without his mutation, he couldn't protect himself, let alone protect Emily and Alyssa.

Alyssa reached a hand out, attempting to draw the moisture out from the air and create a small ball of water, or at least feel the water, but she couldn't. She stared at her hand in sheer terror, shaking her head, convincing herself that it was just an aftereffect of the drug, and she'd be able to feel the moisture again. She created a fist and slammed it against the wall beside her.

"This is killing me!" She took a deep breath, focusing on suppressing her anger. "Okay. How long do you think it'll take the team to realize we're gone?" She asked the others.

"They should have figured it out by last night when we didn't come home. They know we wouldn't stay out late, and we were teaching classes tomorrow. We don't do that sort of thing, after all." Emily pointed it out, trying to take comfort in the fact the X-Men never left someone behind. Even if the odds were against them, Storm and Cyclops would figure out some crazy, hair-brained plan that would end up working. They'd done it a million times, and it would be idiotic to think it would be the last.

"Yeah." Alyssa nodded, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. "So, any ideas on how to pass the time?" She inquired randomly.

"Well, we could always talk about our crushes and who we want to go to the prom with!" John suggested with girly enthusiasm, but his face transformed to its previous scowl. "Yeah, right."

Alyssa looked at Emily with a fake look of peace on her face. "Ah, as it goes. All men revert to their previous states while in a huge, concrete cell."

Emily merely rolled her eyes as the trio lapsed into silence. The minutes seem to tick by at an impossibly slow rate. The only clock they had was the sun, and it appeared to be fixed in one place. To pass the time, they each took turns staring out of the tiny window, though it was more like a hole the construction workers decided was too much trouble to fill up. The other two played thumb wars and they arm-wrestled until their arms were sore. After that, Emily pulled off her sweatshirt and they made it into a ball and tossed it back and forth between the three of them, each making fake bets on how long they could throw it without dropping it. Considering the small room, it would probably be a long time.

Soon, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and shadows were harshly cast across the room. John was lying on the floor of their cell, doing sit-ups to work on his self-titled "rock hard abs". Alyssa was on her back on her bed, her head facing the door as she hummed silly songs underneath her breath. Emily had taking her sweatshirt and formed it into a pillow (they'd long since grown tired of throwing the ball back and forth).

"Alyssa, God! Shut the hell up!" John snapped. It wasn't that he was really angry with her, or with anyone at the moment, except the idiots who had imprisoned them. He was so sick of sitting in a cell, and if the X-Men didn't get there soon, LOGAN would be the one to get a new one ripped.

Alyssa pushed herself slightly off of her bed so John was upside down to her. "Fine." She glared at him. "You're so lucky I don't throw my shoe at you, you… well, there's an idea." She looked at her worn converse that looked like they belonged when the shoes had first come out.

"Lyssa, don't." Emily murmured, half-asleep.

"No, that's not what I meant." Alyssa waved a hand at her. "John, you got good aim?"

John caught where her thoughts were going, and laughed at her. He was soon overcome with what had been intended as mocking laughter, as the true hilarity of what his semi-friend was suggesting. He curled on up on the floor, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Alyssa crossed her arms over her chest. "What's your problem?" She asked, huffing.

John somehow managed to get control of himself, and smirked at her. "You think a shoe, or six shoes, for that matter, is going to get us out of here? Even if I had my lighter, and we could use our powers, since I think they're suppressed until the drug's out of us, you think we're going to get out of a place like this?" He sniggered. "Like hell we are. Listen, honey," His voice was dripping with sickly sweetness. "This is the Friends of Humanity, or one of their affiliates. Wherever the hell we are, it's not chump street. They're going to have guards and security cameras and guns and a shitload of fancy drugs that will make you high as a kite, and then so depressed you want to kill yourself, just so they can experiment the crap out of us."

Alyssa and Emily watched him with wide eyes, and he cursed himself inwardly for letting himself go all 'badass' John again. He let out a low sigh, leaning his back against the concrete wall, his eyes riveted on the ground. Nothing he said had been a lie, and it was probably better that it was out and on the table, then all of them throwing their lives away on some stupid escape attempt. If John knew one thing about Mr. Summers, it was that he would have the team in and out as soon as the realization that they were gone appeared in his mind. He knew he would remain strong in that thought for the girls. He knew they could handle themselves just as well without him, but while he was here, he would do anything he could to help them.

The door opened and a nondescript guard in a black uniform walked in. He eyed them suspiciously, and then handed John a tray and a jug. When John had put the two things down, the guard gave the glaring young man a kick in the side for good measure.

John fell over, groaning, but gasped for breath and sat up all the same. "Hey buddy, how about some blankets?" He asked roughly, still heaving for breath.

"I don't think so, dude. Enjoy your meal." The guard smirked, and then closed the door.

John sighed, refusing to feel defeat. He picked up the jug and tray, and set it down on Emily's bed. "Come on, guys." He said, rubbing his side, hissing as he did so.

"Take your shirt off." Emily blushed.

John grinned. "Really? So excited to get my shirt off?"

Emily blushed once more. "You know what I mean!" She took a deep breath, refusing to look him in the eye. "Now, come on, I want to make sure you're all right."

Pyro knew he could just pull the side of his shirt up, but decided to go for the full show. He started to hum stripper music and gyrated his hips, slowly pulling his shirt up. He did a small dance and then slowly walked towards her. Emily blushed furiously and looked away, Alyssa unable to stop laughing.

John stopped the torture and pulled his shirt off, sitting down next to Emily. "I'm done." He rolled his eyes dramatically, letting her run her fingers over the red spot that had been created by the guard's foot. "Is it bruising?"

Emily moved his arm so she could get a closer look. "Is that a birth mark?" She asked, poking it.

John swatted her hand away. "Yes." He rolled his eyes. "Now, come on. Is it bruising?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, I think a little bit." She gently pressed on the spot. "Does that hurt?"

"A little." He admitted. He took deep breaths when Emily instructed him to. "What is that supposed to do?" He inquired.

"It's to make sure your ribs aren't cracked. It really, really hurts when you break a rib. Take it from me; I broke one in the Danger Room once. Was not pleasant." Alyssa interjected before Emily could reply.

"Well, I think you're okay, John. You should probably get some rest after we eat." Emily turned her eyes to the three small bowls of what looked like unseasoned oatmeal. She made a face, but handed Alyssa a bowl and dug in anyway. She made another face. "Ugh, that's disgusting."

John rolled his eyes as he took his bowl and finished it off in two gulps. "Now, I thought they would be giving us five-star meals here in prison." He mocked her as he went to lay down on his bed. "Just go to sleep, girlies."

Alyssa rolled her eyes and Emily scoffed, tempted to scratch him. It would serve him right, after all. As the sun finally rolled down completely behind the mountains, the three teenagers settled in for a (hopefully) good night's rest, each using an article of clothing to prop their heads up. John had kept his shirt off, Emily was using her sweatshirt, and Alyssa pulled off her outershirt and was down to a camisole for the night.

Little did they know the scientists' plans for them, but those would wait until morning.


	22. The Man With A Plan

**Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men, Emily Rachery or Robi Wexler.**

Scott was about two seconds away from throwing that vase of dying lilies against the wall. No, really, he was. He was under a lot of pressure, and he refused to fall asleep. One night without sleep, if he could come up with a plan that would save three of his students, was well worth it. He left his bedroom with his books and sketchbook, as well as his cell phone and Charles' master phonebook and set up base camp in the Professor's study. The Professor had left several hours earlier on a plane to Ukraine for some obscure genetics conference that sounded promising, so it was up to him to get this done.

He knew there were several of his former students that lived fairly close, but did not have exclusively X-Men lives, and he was sure if he found their numbers and called them, despite the hour, they would show up to help them. He called every number he could find of names he recognized from grading essays to the point of exhaustion. One of three things happened. The first was that no one picked up, seeing as how it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. The second was that he got the wrong number, since someone had moved and hadn't given the professor a new number yet. The third was that they picked up and agreed to come, promising to be there as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the third option only happened two times. Luckily, Piotr and Kitty had been married for the past year and were, therefore, living together.

Scott sighed as he rubbed his temples. He picked up his coffee cup and took a deep draught. He blinked a couple times and set back to work. There were several things about this mission that he already hated. He had no idea where they were and who they were taken by. If the Friends of Humanity had taken them (which he suspected they had), then there were two known bases they could be at. Each base was, in a way, 'independently operated and owned', though they all acted under the command of one Graydon Creed. If he was honest with himself, Scott hated the rat bastard for stealing his kids. Boy, were those creepy scientists going to pay.

Scott froze at those thoughts and swore viciously. Now all he could think about were the things those scientists might be doing to the three kids. He swore once more and brought the plans for each of the bases up on Charles' computer. He wondered how Charles had gotten them, since Xavier was nothing less than an ethical man. He shook his head, attempting to focus back on what really mattered, instead of wondering how Charles happened to be able to plant moles in the Friends of Humanity.

He muttered to himself as he printed the floor plans out, already forming several theories on how this mission might work. He wasn't known as a tactical genius for no reason, after all. He set the floor plans out on the desk and studied them, using his pencil to draw different pathways. No more than six times did Scott end up getting too frustrated and slamming the pencil against the desk. Then, he took a short two-minute coffee break and he was back to work. He hated this mission. He had no idea where they were, and they couldn't use Cerebro to find out where exactly. He had already contacted the Professor, and he would have come back as soon as possible if all of the airports in the surrounding area just happened to have been blown up. Scott didn't think it was much of a coincidence. So until he could go all the way across Ukraine, Scott was pretty much on his own.

"I came to make sure you were all right." Kurt said quietly after he had nearly given Scott a heart attack by BAMFing in suddenly.

"Thank you, Kurt." Scott looked up, thankful for the distraction. "I am…but this rescue attempt is going to be…interesting, for lack of a better word." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong, too many things I don't know and can't account for in a plan. Those are my kids in there, Kurt." He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and staring at stark white paper for too long. "I don't think I could live with myself if anything happened to them because I didn't act fast enough, or I messed up."

Kurt nodded understandingly as he took a seat across from Scott. "I know what it is like, to be afraid, to be uncertain. It is often hard to see the good that can come out of all of this. I suppose you must have faith."

Scott shook his head. "It's difficult." He admitted. "I have the floor plans in front of me, but my mind is reeling from everything else I have to equate in. There are security guards, doctors, and scientists crawling around the place. There are cameras and sensors everywhere. Both places are veritable fortresses, and even if we managed to get in, which I have my doubts that we will…we might have picked the wrong one."

"I understand it is hard for you to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It must be a heavy load." Kurt gave him a slight smile. "But I am convinced that God will guide your hand and your mind to make the right decisions. You have to trust that He loves those children as much as you do, and that He is on your side." He stood up. "I will leave you to your work, Mr. Summers. Goodbye." He nodded in farewell.

"Thank you, Kurt." Scott smiled, and the blue-skinned mutant BAMFed away.

Scott turned back to the floor plans, letting out a sigh. He turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Okay, God, I've never trusted you before, but you know how much these kids mean to me, so I'm going to need a little help. Something, anything, but I just can't do this with the knowledge I have." He exhaled, feeling awkward talking to an empty room. "But I don't know how this is going to work, I guess. Unless, you know, there's a bolt of lightning and suddenly, I know everything about this place, but I'm guessing that's not part of the deal."

Scott looked back at the blueprints in front of him and chewed on the end of his pencil. Suddenly, it was as though the plans were coming alive before him. He'd witnessed the sensation before, and knew he had to act fast. He quickly scribbled in the lines of where he thought the X-Men needed to go, and what precautions would need to be taken, and where ice walls should be created to block off any on-coming guards. He felt giddy as he quickly manipulated the actual images on the computer, and copied the information onto a CD.

Scott stormed out of the Professor's study, blueprints under one arm and the CD in his other hand. He made sure to keep quiet as he tiptoed through the student dormitories, making sure not to wake any of them up, but then ran when he reached the stairs. He reached the nearest elevator and went down to the sub-basements.

"Ororo!" He shouted, getting her attention from the medlab.

"What's wrong, Scott?" She asked, walking towards him.

"I've got it." He handed her the blueprints and then they walked to the X-Men's briefing room together. He slid the CD into the nearest drive and waited for the images to come up on the screen.

"I know this is going to be difficult and very risky, but I think it might work. The two buildings aren't that different. The levels… they're all the same, just in different places. See, here, in Building One, it's one, two, three, four, five and six. In Building Two, in relation to Building One, it's two, four, three, six, one, five, except slightly rotated." He turned to her excitedly. "It's all the same thing, room-wise…everything. Everything." He reiterated, taking a deep breath. "I can't believe I hadn't noticed it before." He smirked slightly at the irony, and then cast his eyes heavenward for a moment.

"Wow. Very nice, Scott." She smiled at him. "Who did you manage to get a hold of?"

"Piotr and Kitty, and Robi Wexler." He replied. "You'll be taking Bobby, Piotr, Kitty and Warren. I'm keeping everyone else here, just in case." The Professor had explained to him that John was frightened of Magneto coming for him. At first, Scott hadn't believed Erik Lensherr would go so far, but after what had happened with Marie and Liberty Island, he was definitely a believer.

"Good decision." Ororo smirked slightly at him. "I don't think Robi would be a big fan of being placed on the team to go rescue John Allerdyce."

Robi Wexler and John Allerdyce had never been best-friends-forever. Robi had been best known for his close ties with Emily; a protective big brother, of sorts. He watched out for her and made sure she was okay, whilst taking great pleasure in teasing her and annoying the heck out of her. John, in Robi's opinion, was not a good enough person to hang out Emily. He didn't like that the two were friends, especially since John was merciless in taunting anyone and everyone. That included Emily.

"I know." Scott's eyes twinkled in amusement, but he quickly returned to leader mode. "And normally, I would not have put Piotr and Kitty on a mission like this together, considering how they're married, but Hank is a doctor, and I thought it best if he stayed here and prepared for any casualties." He explained, leaning against the wall. "I'm going to go prepare the jet soon. Would you go upstairs after you suit up and wait for them? I want you guys to go as soon as you can."

Ororo nodded. "Okay. I'll get Warren, too. Bobby's already up with Marie in the kitchen, talking. I'll send him down to help you."

"Thank you, Ororo." Scott let out a sigh of relief as she left. He glanced up at the ceiling again. "You too." He murmured, and then walked to the hanger of the Blackbird.

**XXX**

Robi Wexler was doing insanely well for a man of his age. He had never been ecstatic about school during high school, but he'd found his niche in college. He was taking every class he could afford and working his butt off to be able to afford them. He was exhausted every moment of the day when he was in class, doing his assignments or at the bookstore where he worked, but it was worth it. He was currently working towards a double major in Comparative Literature and Creative Writing. And, when he was truly honest with himself, he knew he owed all of his success to Xavier's School for the Gifted Youngsters. Success or not, he needed to sleep at night.

So, it was putting it lightly to say that when he was awoken at some ungodly hour, he was a little grouchy. His heart froze with fear when he heard the news the voice on the other end of the line had to give to him. He stammered some reply, shoved his bare feet into some worn sneakers, stuffed a pair of socks into his pajama pants pocket and was out of the door in moments.

Robi jumped into his car and might have gone ten miles over the speed limit to get to Westchester in an hour's time, but he couldn't have answered that question even if he wanted to. He was still in shock, and was functioning completely on autopilot. Mr. Summers (he didn't have the brain capacity at the moment to wonder at that) had told him Emily and Alyssa had been taken captive by the Friends of Humanity. They had been two of his best friends when they had been in school together, and they still kept contact, meeting up for coffee when they all had the chance. Emily had been like his sister, and now she was in trouble.

He turned his car off and left it in the driveway, running up to the front door. The door opened for him, and Logan and Ororo welcomed him in. "What's Cyclops' plan?" He asked without preamble.

"He'll explain. He's down in the jet, with Angel and Iceman. Go suit up, Lectric." She ordered him, and he left without another word.

Robi felt his heart rate slowly come back to a normal pace as he stepped into the sub-basements and went into the locker room, changing into his X-Man suit. As he did every time, he took a moment to look at the suit and remember all that it meant and symbolized, and revived his personal pledge to the "Xavier Dream". He suited up, slipping the socks onto his feet before shoving his feet roughly into the supple leather boots. He left his other clothes in a small pile and went to join Cyclops and Iceman.

"What do you mean the computers aren't working?" Cyclops yelled from underneath the Blackbird on a ladder, checking on the wires.

"Cyclops, they're completely dead. I don't know what's with them, maybe they need a jump!" Iceman called back.

"Need any help?" Robi asked as he entered the hanger. Cyclops looked up from his work and smiled, gesturing for Robi to come join him.

"Lectric, just a little boost, nothing too crazy." He instructed, handing over the wires to Robi.

"Okay." He took a deep breath and focused a small jolt into the wires, ordering it to join the copper and power the jet.

"Okay! They're working!" Iceman announced as he walked down the ramp to the hanger floor. "Hey Lectric."

"Hey Iceman." Robi and Bobby shook hands in greeting, not having time for anything else because Warren walked through the door.

"Piotr and Kitty are here. They're getting suited up. Can we go to the briefing room?" Angel asked, stretching out his lustrous wings before folding them to his back neatly.

Cyclops nodded. "Let's go. We have a lot to go over."

Robi fell into step behind the rest of the X-Men as they walked to the next room and sat down in the chairs. He looked up at the screen, peering at the neat markings and notes Cyclops had made on the images. They were definitely floor plans for two different buildings, and his mind boggled trying to remember important parts of each.

Cyclops stood at the front, pressing several buttons on a nearby machine. A few frustrated exhalations later, the images on the screen became 3-D models floating in midair. They waited in baited silence until the huge form of Piotr stepped over the threshold, followed by the petite form of his wife, Kitty. They nodded in greeting to everyone present, and took seats at the back of the room, giving Cyclops their full attention.

"Okay. I will first admit that these plans are not the best, nor is this the most solid mission we have ever executed. We do not have much information, but I do not believe we have the time to gather it. We have two options, and the buildings are both remarkably similar. Building One is a facility thirty miles to the south. Its levels are one, two, three, four, five and six. Building Two is two-hundred miles to the west, and its levels are two, four, three, six, one, five, in relation to the first building. Shadowcat, I'm sure you have this memorized." He nodded to her.

Shadowcat nodded in reply. "Yes, I do, sir."

"Good." He turned to face the team. "If they are in Building One, then our objectives are on the east side of level three. It's high security detention centers. The cells themselves are simple in nature, but the guard rotation will be tight. The trouble is not getting in, it's getting out. Shadowcat, take everyone in from the south side. It's mostly maintenance closets and such. Then move to the east side. There are two staircases and an elevator shaft. Iceman, I want you to freeze the elevator and keep it on the fourth floor so Angel can take you up there, then create an ice wall over the second set of stairs that are on the opposite side of the building from the detention center. Colossus, Shadowcat and Storm will take the first stairs."

Maybe it was wrong, but Cyclops always got a bit of a rush when he was explaining his strategies. "When you are on the third floor, stay low and quiet. Take out any security guard you see silently. There are only four high security cells, so it will not take you long to find them. Colossus," Cyclops smirked at the strong man. "This is where you come in."

"However," He paused. "If you run into any trouble or the objectives are not in Building One, go to the south side and Shadowcat will take you down to the first floor and you will immediately go to the jet, no questions asked, and immediately move onto Building Two. If you have any casualties, you return to the mansion and another X-Man will take their place while Dr. McCoy cares for the wounded."

Cyclops began to explain the plan for Building Two when he examined the diagrams once more. He felt a slight tugging on him, and he knew to trust his instincts. "No, never mind. They're in Building One." His voice was softer, almost a whisper, which was uncommon for him when he was leading the team.

"Are you sure, Cyclops?" Storm was immediately at his side.

"Yes." He replied with a nod. "I don't know how I am, but trust me."

"We do." She watched his face for any hesitation. "Any last orders?"

Cyclops turned to the team. "No. That's all. You know the routine and what to do. Bring them back." He nodded to them, watching them file out one by one. He stopped Iceman before he left. "Bobby," He uncharacteristically broke the tradition for codenames only during X-Men business.

"Yeah?" He turned to face his leader and his teacher.

"No matter what you see, and no matter what happens, bring them back. I know I advise on the side of caution, but I'm winging it on this one. Do whatever you have to do, but bring them back." Scott squeezed Bobby's shoulder. "I'm counting on you… Iceman."

Iceman nodded, taking a deep breath, obviously feeling the pressure. He knew Storm was the second-in-command and he would defer to her, but he got the strange feeling Cyclops was giving up complete control of the team to them, since he would not be going on the mission. He nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"Good man. Good luck." Cyclops left the briefing room, and headed back up to the main part of the mansion. He needed another cup of coffee and a sudoku for the horrible waiting that was about to come.

"Cyclops, wait!" Storm called to him.

"What?" He asked, dreading the worst. "What happened?"

"… It's the jet." She broke the news gently.

"What?" Cyclops exclaimed once more, storming towards the hanger. "What's wrong with it this time? Of all the times to not work! I checked EVERYTHING! I checked it twice! I'm fucking _**Santa**_, for Christ's sake!"


	23. I'm Just Too Far

**Disclaimer: Me no owney X-Men, Emily Rachery or Robi Wexler.**

Alyssa was first to wake in the morning. Blue morning light was gently lightening the shadows in their dreary cell, and she nearly burst into tears when she realized she was still cold, her head still hurt, and she was still stuck in a cell. They hadn't come to rescue them. She tried fiercely to hold onto hope that they would come, that something had happened, but it was too hard. She clapped two hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs, turning away from the other two.

She just couldn't believe that the X-Men hadn't come to rescue them. Sure, it was clichéd because they were a mutant almost-superhero team, but they were also her friends. Wasn't there some kind of friend code that said: If your friend has been kidnapped by crazy people, you come and save them? She was sure that there was. Alyssa let her tears spill over for the next several minutes, and then her tears were completely spent. She took several deep, calming breaths and laid on her back, forcing herself to be logical and try to keep calm.

The circumstances were grim. There was no way to escape, and they were waiting on outside forces to come and save them. Their meals were only meant to keep them alive, and the drugs were still in her system. She felt clammy and cold, but that might have just been the fact it was early in the morning and she was still only wearing her black camisole. She picked up her t-shirt and slid it back on over her head, keeping her arms inside to preserve warmth. There was simply nothing any of them could do but wait.

Alyssa watched Emily and John as they slept. She still wasn't sure how she felt about John. He was definitely street-smart and knew his way around sticky situations. He seemed to have changed, and for that she was grateful. Under extreme pressure, he would revert back to his old self, but it was refreshing to know that he wasn't completely normal. He was also pretty amusing. However, the thing that meant the most to her, the thing that would win her over, was how he treated Emily.

John wasn't a sissy, and would never let one person completely change who he was. He was still very angry, but was internalizing it instead of acting out. Alyssa couldn't see John ever being a calm, relaxed sort of person, but he was different. Even in his sleep, he seemed to need to be close to Emily, to protect her. When they were awake, he always put Emily before himself and had gotten himself kicked because he knew Emily would be cold, even with the minimal fur she had.

Alyssa couldn't help but grin. "John Allerdyce is completely whipped." She muttered, giggling quietly.

"No, 'm not!" John mumbled sleepily in protestation as he shivered himself into wakefulness. "Damn metal…" He cursed it further as he pulled his shirt back on, pulling his jeans up so they didn't expose his boxers as much.

"Oh crap." Emily whispered as she woke up and found herself back in the cell.

"I know." Alyssa commented dryly, prodding Emily with her foot. "I know."

"Stop that or I'll scratch your eyes out." She muttered wrathfully.

"Oooh, going Shakespearean on me, are you?" John asked, smirking. "What? I remember stuff."

Emily giggled. "Yeah, sure, John."

John grinned, his smirk melting into a sincere smile of mirth as he climbed onto Emily's bed, poking her sides and sticking his tongue out at her. "Really, Emily? Really?"

Emily shrieked with laughter, trying to roll away from him and fight him off. She tried to grab his hands, but he was too strong and fast for her. She kept giggling until she finally cried, "Uncle!" and John released her. He stood up on her bed and put his arms out in an intimidating gesture.

"How you like me now?" He kept his victorious face as he hopped to his bed. Unfortunately, his jeans were slightly too long and he slipped on the hem, crashing to his backside.

Even John couldn't stop laughing for several minutes.

It wasn't that hilarious, though it was amusing. All of the laughter wasn't for the jokes and the jests, and Alyssa knew this. The laughter was real, but with each giggle, she felt lighter. They were trying to work off as much stress and fear and anxiety as they could. It was always better to be with friends when you were stuck someplace bad. Alyssa didn't miss how John went the extra mile to make Emily laugh. It was in that moment as John was clutching his stomach and Emily was stuck inside of her sweatshirt because she was laughing too hard that she decided John was an okay guy. She wouldn't be held responsible for freezing the water in his bones if he hurt Emily, though.

The mood seemed to sink from light-hearted to depressing in several moments. Though the light outside was getting stronger, the cell itself seemed to get darker. Emily fiddled with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"I feel gross." She announced quietly. "When are they going to come and get us?"

"Don't know." Alyssa admitted.

John, knowing where this conversation was going, immediately tried to put a stop to it. "Oh, don't go there." He rolled his eyes, not bothering to attempt to sound like a young ghetto woman. "Come on, you guys. You're X-Men! What would you guys do if it was Mr. Summers and Miss Munroe in here?"

"Go get them." Emily pointed out the obvious glumly. Alyssa nodded.

"Well, then they're coming." John pointed out the obvious, sarcasm sneaking into his voice. "They wouldn't just leave us. Even I know that." He rolled his eyes. "When Mr. Summers says something, he does it. Which explains why we had tests every two days." He snorted at the memories. Not like he had ever cared. "When Cyclops says something will happen, then it'll happen. He says you guys are a team, and teams don't leave parts of it behind, no matter how hard it is."

"But…" Alyssa attempted to argue with him.

"Alyssa, you know I hate lecturing you guys, so shut up." John snapped at her, immediately changing the subject. "Let's just do something, okay? Oh, fuck. Not these idiots again." He muttered underneath his breath as the door opened.

Two guards dressed in the same black uniforms stepped in and immediately went for Alyssa. She screamed, kicking and punching any black-gloved hand that came near her. Emily hissed and leapt at one of the guards, sinking her claws into him. John would have entered the fray, but a third guard entered the cell. He grabbed Emily from her position on his comrade's back and slammed her back against the wall, and then tossed her at John, who caught her, but collapsed onto one of the beds. One guard held Alyssa from behind, his arms locked around her stomach while another shackled her legs together.

"Let me go!" Alyssa screamed. "JOHN! EMILY!" Tears burst into her eyes as she yelled to her friends and she was carried out of the room and down the hall.

Emily stared wide-eyed after her friend, even after the door was slammed shut. She didn't move for several moments, and John was beginning to worry she wasn't breathing. He settled his back against the wall, gently drawing Emily into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her middle, respectably distanced from both feminine areas. He really had no idea what he was doing, and knew Emily would probably curl up on the other side of the room when she realized what was going on. But she had always comforted him with physical contact; a touch of the hand, a hug. This was the only way he knew how to soothe her.

Suddenly, Emily turned around and buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing loudly. Tears streamed from her eyes and a wet spot began to grow on his t-shirt, but that meant little in comparison to what Emily was going through. If he listened quietly, John thought he could hear her heart shattering. He knew what kind of friends Emily and Alyssa were. The kind of through-thick-and-thin-no-matter-what friends that were so rare to see. They had always and would always do pretty much everything together. They connected in so many ways and simply loved each other. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to try to hold in the pain he felt overflowing from his heart for her.

"Oh, Emily, I'm… I'm so sorry." He whispered into her hair. He lifted his head slightly, allowing her to settle in more comfortably.

"John!" Emily whimpered, her arms holding onto him weakly around his waist. "What am I going to do? They're going to hurt her and I'll never see her again and I'll never tell her how brave and wonderful she is! They're going to kill her, aren't they? They're going to do crazy stuff on her and she'll never be the same!" She sobbed pitifully into his chest.

John softly soothed her, lifting her gently so she was situated in his lap, her legs to one side. "Hey, hey." He pulled her away from his chest and looked her straight in the red, puffy eyes. "Alyssa's going to be fine. No matter what. She's that kind of person. She's going to be fine, and you're going to be fine. It'll be a big, huge party of fine. We're going to be at the mansion before you know it, so stop these tears, eh?" His lips quivered when he suddenly became aware of how close their lips and faces were.

Emily sniffed and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry for crying all over you, I'm just… she's gone!" She began to breathe deeply, trying to calm herself down. "Sorry." She said again, blushing slightly as she wiped at her nose and eyes.

"It's fine, Emily." He told her with a small smile as he let her pull away. "That's what friends are for, right?" He gave her a cheesy wink and nearly glowed when he saw her smile slightly. At least he could do something for her. That made all of the personal humiliation worth it.

**XXX**

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Cyclops cursed as he was once again lying underneath the control board.

The problem had turned out to be something very minor. There was one tiny wire in the control board. It connected the logistics panel to the rest of the mainframe, and he had just replaced it a few days ago, but it was a faulty wire. Now, he had to dig through all of the wires and chips, trying not to dislodge anything else, to get to one wire that took five minutes to replace if he was careful, which he always was. Then, it took the control panel a while to get used to the new connection. That should have taken all of a half hour. It was five hours since Ororo had told him about the problem, and the others had left him with his jet, getting what sleep they could and a good cup of coffee.

"Why, God, why are you doing this to me?" He muttered as he stood up and looked at the check-list he'd placed on the control board. He needed to do run a complete diagnostics check. Of the entire jet. He was halfway down the list. "All I needed to do was change the damn wire, and now this! Why now? My team needs to get those kids. Kurt said you cared about them too. Right about now, I'd like a bit of a message." He growled, tempted to toss a wrench at the next person to walk into the hangar, innocent or not. He was about to call Logan down, just so he could throw something at someone with whom he could get away with something like that.

Scott paused in his word, sure he had heard the words, _It will all work out_, floating around. He walked down the ramp, looking around. No… that was impossible, and also stupid to hope. He went back up the ramp and continued on his check-list. Another hour passed, and he was looking at three more hours worth of work. With each moment that went by, he could feel urgency begin to pump more adrenaline into his blood.

However, he knew he needed a break when his hands started to shake from lack of rest and food. He leaned his head against the control panel, sitting on the floor, sighing.

"Okay. You up there?" He asked, his eyes going up to the ceiling of the jet. "I've been trying, and I just can't do this. I just don't know what's wrong with my jet, and I want those kids back here, damn it. So a little help would be nice!" He shouted, grateful that the team had gone upstairs until he called them.

Scott sighed, knowing he needed to rest. He could send Bobby down to do some of the minor checks, and he could get some sleep. He rubbed his eyes. He looked down at the control panel and ignited the thrusters, just to see if there was some way they were working. He blinked, rubbing his eyes furiously when he heard them whine.

He was completely frozen as he ran through every system as quickly as his shaking hands would allow. Everything was working, everything was online. They were ready to go. He ran down the ramp, whooping and hollering.

"YES! YES! HELL YES!" Scott screamed as he ran to the door, which opened for him. He glanced upwards. "Thank you… but YES!"

Storm had been elected by the team to be the one to take food to Scott, and most likely get her head bitten off. She muttered something about sending lightning to an unmentionable place on Bobby's anatomy when she heard Scott yelling in excitement. She nearly dropped his coffee, but set it on the floor later. She could clean it up later.

"What's going on, Scott?" She asked.

"We're ready to go. Get to the jet. I'll get everyone else." Scott stepped into the elevator before Ororo could react, but when she did she sprinted to the jet, the coffee and bagel completely forgotten.

**XXX**

"Everyone ready?" Storm asked as she readied to set down the cloaked jet. She looked over her shoulder and the team nodded their assent. She exhaled and found her inner peace as she eased up on the thrusters and let controlled gravity do its work. Without a hitch, as usual, the jet was put down and the X-Men filed out of it. "Remember what you need to do?" Again, another general nod. Her cape fluttering slightly behind her, they advanced in the darkness.

It may have just been coincidence that dark storm clouds gathered over the sky, cloaking the sun.

Shadowcat touched Iceman and Colossus' arms, while Storm placed a hand on one shoulder and Angel clasped her other. Shadowcat phased herself and all of the people who were touching her and slowly they walked through the wall into an empty room. Shadowcat shook her head when her teammates let go of her, and they phased into the next opening, which appeared to be a side hallway.

"Stay low." Storm mouthed, and advanced slowly and quietly in the lead. Her heart jumped when a security guard spotted them as they turned a corner, but Iceman reacted first.

He reached out with his arm and ice completely encased the man. Iceman grimaced, but they all continued. Within moments, and without being interrupted again, the X-Men reached the staircase.

"Com's on." Storm murmured, but they all had turned them on. She gave Angel and Iceman nods before she led Colossus and Shadowcat up the stairs.

"Let's do this, Iceman." Angel grinned and he pressed the elevator button, Iceman acting as lookout. The elevator came, and it was luckily empty, the hour being so early.

Iceman looked questioningly at Angel who seemed to be enjoying himself as the door closed and he pressed the 3 button. "What?" Angel gestured at the elevator. "We'll still beat them, even though it's not exactly what Cyclops said. You know he appreciates creativity."

Iceman sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not sure he'd be appreciating this. More like, you'd be obliterated with his blasts."

Angel's improvisation seemed to be insignificant to their greater concerns, so Iceman tried to reign over his raging anxiety. He was half in battle mode, but the other half of him was still the concerned friend who was worried sick. He tried to keep himself under control, but the time in the elevator was too short for anything to happen. The elevator dinged appropriately and Angel and Iceman exited.

"Iceboy, do your thing." Angel smiled… well, angelically and gestured to the elevator.

Iceman pressed his hand against the floor, the ice creating a thick barrier to keep the elevator from moving any time soon. Taking after Angel, he completely iced the floor and added at least a hundred pounds of ice to the top and bottom of the elevator, just to discourage it from moving any time in the near future. Their work done, they scouted slightly for the detention side of the floor, but returned swiftly to the staircase.

A wave of security guards arrived, and Iceman swore. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten something as simple as the guard rotation, and the fact this was the Friends of Humanity, guarding their precious test subjects. His stomach turned at the thought of his three friends (though John wasn't really, yet) being experimented on, like Logan. He forced himself out of his dark thoughts and attacked the nearest guard, Angel never leaving his back.

Storm, Colossus and Shadowcat had run into similar trouble. Someone in the security camera booth had seen the early-morning infiltration and had sent guards after them. Shadowcat pushed the nearest guard into the wall, phasing him through, not really caring if he was stuck in the wall or he went through. Colossus threw two down the stairs with one mighty punch and saved Ororo's hair from getting cut off with a bullet when he covered his body in metal and stopped the bullet with his hand. Storm's eyes turned white and she called up an unnatural snow to fall on their opponents. The X-Suits were tailored for extreme weather, but not for Storm-extreme. Storm allowed Colossus to send them into blissful unconsciousness right before the second wave of guards attacked, and suddenly, Iceman and Angel had rejoined them. The battle was slowly moved to the second floor, unaware of the atrocities being committed just above their heads.


	24. Raindrop Falls

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Emily Rachery, Robi Wexler or the towel Scott had a couple chapters ago. But I wish I did.**

Scott rubbed his eyes underneath his visor, unable to control his worry. The worst thing about being a leader was when you were forced to stay behind and wait for your teammates. He was staring at his plans, and he hadn't moved for hours. Every so often, someone would bring him coffee or food or urge him to come downstairs. Every time, he thanked the messenger, accept whatever gifts they brought, and continue to stare at his plan, going through it in his mind. He was obsessing, and he knew it, too. He just couldn't fall asleep or leave the study until they were back.

He stared down at the X-Communicator (yes, he realized it was weird how they added an X to the beginning of anything), just waiting and praying for it to ring. He needed to hear that Alyssa, Emily and John were all in the X-Men's hands and they were coming home. He didn't understand how Charles could stand waiting in the mansion. Probably because he trusted them to do their jobs and get out. Scott trusted his team, but when he wasn't there orchestrating something so delicate as a rescue mission, it grated on his nerves.

He jumped when the door was thrown open and Logan walked in. "Hey Cyke." He muttered, plopping down onto a couch.

"Logan." Scott nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought you might like some company." Logan said around the cigar he was chomping on, though it was unlit.

"All right." Scott exhaled. "I can't stand this, Logan, I have to check on them, I have to be able to see what's going on." He muttered, drumming his fingers against the solid wood desk.

"Hey," Logan caught Scott's attention as he stood up and took a seat across from the younger mutant. "They're going to be okay, and everyone's going to come home. 'Ro knows what she's doing and can cover for your pansy ass. Stop worrying."

"I can't. How can you be so calm?" Scott refrained from mentioning that Ororo was Logan's girlfriend, since he was sure Wolverine was aware of that, and was probably worrying worse than he was. "I can't stop thinking that my plan's going to go very, very wrong."

"Now, look here, Cyke. They'll be fine. You're just wearing yourself out sitting up here for no reason. Besides, Robi's tired of bringing you food, so let's go." Logan stood up, waiting for Scott to do the same.

Scott cast a reluctant eye at the computer screen, and then turned it off. He stood up, but placed the X-Com in his pocket. He left the study with Logan, cursing the other man in his head. He needed to stay and figure out what to do if Ororo contacted him and needed a way out. However, he liked all of his limbs where they were. But it wasn't like he was _**scared**_ of Logan or anything. Now, that would just be silly.

"MR. SUMMERS! MR. SUMMERS!"

Scott whirled around, catching Ricky before they slammed into each other. "Ricky, just breathe. Take a deep breath, and then tell me what's going on." He said calmly, his hands still firmly holding onto the teenager's shoulders.

Ricky, known best for his growing telepathic abilities, did as Mr. Summers told him, and then looked up at the two X-Men. "Mr. Summers… I was just sitting around, I swear, and I had nothing to do, so I decided to do some of my mental stretches that the Professor told me to do, and I was reaching as far as I could, and I caught a thought that rung louder than the others because of it's intense emotional value." He explained.

Scott furrowed his eyebrows. "What was the thought?"

Ricky looked down at the floor. "I think it was Magneto, sir. I've talked to John a couple times, so I know his last name is Allerdyce. The thought was, 'Allerdyce will get what's coming to him' and then it was like I was being booted from his mind. I had a killer headache for a quick moment, and then I came to find you."

Logan growled, unsheathing his claws. "Cyclops," He began, but Scott cut him off.

"Logan, put those away." He ordered firmly. "Ricky, what I need you to do is go to all of the dorms, and get everyone. Have Taylor help you. Then, take all of the other kids into the tunnels and take them to the safehouses. Wait there, and do not leave and do not open the doors for anyone. And I repeat, anyone. If it is truly one of the X-Men, we will give you the codeword."

Ricky nodded, swallowing. "Okay, Mr. Summers."

"Good boy." Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Now GO!" He sent Ricky off running, and then turned to Logan. "Let's go."

Cyclops and Wolverine ran down the nearest staircase to meet with Lectric and Nightcrawler. Cyclops turned to his teammates, and pointed to Nightcrawler. "Get Beast." When Nightcrawler had BAMFed away, he turned to the remaining two. "Wolverine, stay here. There aren't many of us, but a lot of them, so we're going to be in different places around the mansion. Only take out a few at a time, staying low and quiet."

"Yeah, I get it." Wolverine snapped.

Cyclops looked at Lectric. "Get a fork and get near an outlet, somewhere in the back." He patted the younger X-Man on the back. "You'll be fine. If you don't feel you can attack safely, then don't attack and let them come. One of us will take care of them."

Lectric nodded, and ran off towards the kitchen to set up. Cyclops left Logan and headed into the garage. He walked to the power box and threw it open. He looked through the various wires, and then picked several and pulled them out. Immediately, the lights in the garage completely went out. The only light that would be visible was the light of the moon. The Brotherhood wasn't required to know the entire mansion back and forth and upside down in the dark. The X-Men were. It was one of Cyclops' many training regimes that he had come up with, and he was thankful he'd had a nightmare of the school being attacked at night.

Cyclops went back into the mansion, and found Beast and Nightcrawler awaiting orders. "Beast, go to the classroom hallway, and Nightcrawler, go onto the first floor. You know what to do." He nodded to both of them. "I'll be in the garage." Scott Summers would not trust the care of his cars or the most vulnerable spot in the fortress the mansion was to anyone else.

Now… it was a waiting game. The only comfort Cyclops could find in this situation was he could actually do something to protect those he loved.

**XXX**

Emily fell asleep moments after their conversation had ended. Her head ached from crying, so she used her sweatshirt and John's lap as a pillow, curling up close as she entertained feline dreams of catnip and other wonderfully cat-like things. John sat on his bed, trying to get comfortable with his backside unable to move due to the cute cat girl lying on him. She was definitely cute, he'd give her that, but his tailbone hurt.

He gently covered Emily's ears so she wouldn't wake up as the door was opened and Alyssa was pushed in. John opened his mouth to say something, to ask her what had happened, but he closed it. She was pale, and seemed to be trembling. Her face was downcast and her eyes seemed hollow and devoid of life. She looked up at the window above the bed in the middle and cocked her head to the right.

"Is it raining?" She asked, her voice empty.

"Yeah." John answered, looking at her questioningly.

She ignored him, obviously oblivious to his existence. She climbed up onto the middle bed to look out the tiny hole. Indeed, rain was falling steadily and it was creating a blurry sheet that was falling straight down. She reached her hand out to catch a few drops of water in her hand. She leaned her forehead against the concrete, tears dripping from her eyes.

"I used to play with the rain drops all the time. Now, I'll never get to." She whispered brokenly.

John moved out from under Emily, causing her to wake up with his abruptness. He shifted her aside, and then stood up next to Alyssa. "What happened?" He asked her.

"They…" Alyssa said, furrowing her eyebrows, as if wondering if he was talking to her. "They did… something. They stuck me to an IV, and then… it was like they were slowly drawing out the moisture from me. It didn't hurt because I was all drugged, but I could feel the suction, and now I feel empty, and I can't play with the raindrops anymore."

John let out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Alyssa. I'm sure you'll be fine. I've heard rumors that they've figured something out that can suppress mutations, but not completely take it away, I don't think that's possible."

Alyssa suddenly turned and shoved him off the bed. "Well, what the hell do you know? It's all your fault that they did this! You just show up, and we take you in, damn it! And now…" She sobbed, sliding down into a sitting position. "Now I'm not a mutant anymore. Now I'm just a human." She sobbed into her knees, hiccupping every so often.

This sound completely brought Emily out from her semi-wakefulness. She sat up, not able to react to the joy of Alyssa being back when the smell of salty tears hit her nose. She scooted over to her best friend and put an arm around her.

"Lyssa…" She leaned her head against Alyssa's shoulder. She moved slightly to accommodate the shifting Alyssa did to bury her face into Emily's shoulder.

"They stole it, Emily! They stole the only thing that makes me me!" She wailed, clinging to Emily for dear life. "I can't feel it anymore! I can't feel the water!"

"You're still Alyssa. You're still my best friend, and everything." Emily murmured, rubbing Alyssa's back.

She knew it wasn't comforting her friend at all. Alyssa, as far as Emily knew, had always been proud of who she was, of what she was. She had never wondered if her life would have been better if she hadn't been a mutant. Alyssa had embraced being a mutant, always playing with water, even though at first, she hadn't been dry for a moment. Emily didn't know what would happen to Alyssa if she never regained her powers again, if the mutant suppressant the scientists had pumped into her for several hours didn't wear out of her system.

Alyssa whispered, "It hurts. It actually hurts, like I'm completely parched in a desert, buried up to my neck in sand. I need something… anything…" She gently pushed herself away from Emily to lean against the wall, taking deep breaths to try and take control of herself.

John stepped down from the bed onto the concrete floor, crossing his arms over his chest. "What the hell?" He asked Alyssa. "I can understand being freaked, but what are you talking about?"

Alyssa glanced up at John, letting out a sigh. "You know what, John, just…"

"Come on, tell me. Who am I going to tell?" He gestured to the small, empty room. "It couldn't possibly be worse than anything else I've done."

"I'll give you that." Alyssa deadpanned. She looked down at her lap, running her fingers through her hair. "I was a drug addict, okay? I freak out a bit, and they pumped me full of something. It's nothing I ever tried, but it's something." She admitted softly, wiping at her eyes and nose. "God, I'm such a mess right now."

John opened his mouth to make a smart remark when Emily silenced him with a deadly glare. He muttered something sarcastic underneath his breath, but he refrained from commenting. He paced back and forth for an hour as the two girls chatted away, bonding as friends and trying to distract Alyssa from the lack of her mutation, but nothing could. She appreciated the gesture, though. As soon as the sixty minutes were up, it seemed, that they fell asleep against each other.

John simply watched them for several minutes, wondering what it would be like to be in Alyssa's position. He looked down at his dirty palms. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't be Pyro. Pyro was a name that held a lot of dark, terrible memories. He had killed many men under that name. It was still part of who he was. Those sins were part of who he was. While he was different and was determined to go a different way, that was his past, and he accepted that. If he didn't have fire, he agreed with Alyssa… he couldn't be who he truly was.

As if his thoughts suddenly had prophetic power, the door opened. John stared at the security guard, and then nodded in defeat. He turned his back and crawled onto the beds. With quivering lips, he pressed a kiss to Emily's forehead, and then approached the guard without so much as a sarcastic word.

The guard put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out. The single guard was joined by another dozen, and John looked around at them, but allowed them to lead him on. John took a deep breath, grinding his teeth. He tried to keep a calm head, but he was terrified of losing his power and of being tortured for scientific purposes. It sounded like something out of a movie, or something that happened to someone else. He knew Wolverine had been operated on. John wondered what they would do to him, and all of the images that popped into his head were less than comforting.

"So, what, I'm a fucking science experiment?" He spat, glaring up at the guard who still had a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know, kid, you wanna look at it that way, go right ahead." The security guard returned, cuffing him over the head.

"Fucker." John muttered.

The procession walked on for another minute until something caught John's ears. He'd know that tenor voice anywhere. He struggled against the arms that suddenly grabbed onto him, and he tried to wrest himself away.

"ICEMAN!" He shouted. "STORM!" He screamed, his voice increasingly panicked. "THEY'RE UP HERE! CYCLOPS! WOLVERINE!" He continued to yell as many X-Men's names as he could remember until one of the security guards had the sense to punch him in the jaw.

"OW! Fuck!" John sputtered, reeling from the pain, and he slackened in the grasp of the guards enough for them to cover his mouth. But from the increased sounds of battle, his screams had done their job.

John was half-dragged, half-carried to a room that reminded him of an operating room from a medical show he was forced to watch everyday at six o'clock PM because most people had finished their homework by then. John had never done his homework. He glanced around the room, his stomach flopping over and over as the security guards left him there. Sure, they had been intimidating in their own right, but it was mental torture to sit there, wonder what was coming, and be able to see the scalpels, surgical knives and other medical instruments.

The door on the other side of the room opened and a doctor walked in, a chart in his hand. It was as if he didn't know John was there as he bustled around, washing his hands and snapping latex gloves on. John stared at him, wondering if it worth it to grab the nearest knife and bury it into the man's back. He'd done such a thing before, and this dude could hurt him. He began to inch towards the tray of instruments when the doctor spoke up.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He smiled as he turned around. "Hello there. My name is Doctor Tyler. Well, Alex Tyler, M.D." He grinned as he walked towards John with a casual air. "And your name is?"

"Pyro." John spat. "Get the hell away from me, fuckmook." Later in his life, he would wonder why that particular expletive popped into his head, but it sounded rude and disrespectful, and that was the point of the entire thing.

Dr. Tyler cocked an eyebrow at the name, but accepted it. "Oh well. That wasn't as strange as 'Aquagyne'." He shrugged. "So, Pyro, if I may guess at your mutation? You create fire?"

John smirked. "Close enough, smartass." He held his hands out. "If I could, don't you think anything flammable in this place would already be an inferno?"

Dr. Tyler chuckled. "Of course not. My mutation suppressant is powerful. You won't be able to light candles from across the room for at least another day. Now, if you won't let me tend to you, I will have to sedate you."

John snickered. "Yeah, I'd love to see that."

Dr. Tyler, for a moment, looked genuinely sad. "I'm sorry, Pyro." He pressed a button on a nearby control board, and a security guard entered moments later. "Just hold him down so I can put the IV into him." He instructed quietly.

John pushed himself to his feet and reached for a surgical knife, but the security guard hit him sharply in the back of his head. He groaned when he landed on the linoleum floor, completely limp as the guard picked him back up and held his forearm out to Dr. Tyler. The doctor inserted the Teflon IV and hooked it up to the mobile IV bag that, along with the common saline solution, was filled with sedation drugs.

John struggled slightly, but soon enough, the drugs were circling through his system, and he was completely under. There were times he woke up for several seconds, but it gave him such a shock he was sent back into unconsciousness. There were doctors standing over him, blood covering their scrubs and latex gloves, both times he woke up. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he was completely awake, his arms were covered in clean gauze. He was shirtless, but he had some form of pants on. He wasn't sure if they were his or not; he wasn't really focused on his state of undress.

He was facing his worst fear. Being completely without any form of warmth. He was sitting in a metal tub and completely submerged in water that was sloshing with ice. An oxygen mask was covering his nose and mouth, but his head was underneath the water. His body was trembling sporadically from the extreme lack of heat, and he couldn't even see the state of his body. He couldn't move his head for some reason, and a previously unrealized fear of drowning exploded in his mind. He sucked in a breath, and attempted to scream and thrash. Through the water, Dr. Tyler's blurry face appeared over him.

"Don't try to struggle… what's going on?" The normally even, calm voice of the doctor was filled with fear. "That's not possible, I thought Mr. Creed said… What about the experiment?" He gestured to John, who looked up at him in fear, trusting him as a doctor, if not as a human being, interested in his overall health and wellbeing.

John met Dr. Tyler's eyes for a short moment, before the doctor sighed. "Fine. We will evacuate. Leave him."

John began to scream again, thrashing as he attempted to get out. Something was definitely around his hips. His bare feet slipped against the smooth metal tub as he struggled against the restraints. Someone had left the oxygen machine on, so he could breathe, but he was still underneath the freezing water, and his head was slowly feeling heavier and more stuffed with cotton. His energy was slowly leaving him and he found it impossible to struggle anymore. He closed his eyes, and even the image of Emily's sweet face in his mind couldn't make him fight anymore. He let out a sigh, his body eerily still.

**XXX**

The X-Men heard John's calls, and reacted. Their attacks became more fierce and focused, beating back the waves of security guards, though it may have taken hours, giving Iceman the time he needed to create an efficient ice wall. He put his hands against it, strengthening it quickly before he followed behind his teammates.

"I'll look for John, find Aquagyne and Luna!" Iceman turned down the hallway.

"Shadowcat, go with him." Storm sent the younger woman off, and Angel, Colossus and Storm went off to find the objectives.

Shadowcat raced after her teammate who was sprinting and icing anyone who was in his path, regardless of if they were attacking him or not. Iceman was functioning on the thought that someone he had once called a friend was in deep, deep trouble. Shadowcat felt someone grab her arm, but she phased through, keeping the bottoms of her feet solid, but the rest of her body was untouchable. Iceman stopped as the hallway went on and on. He turned around and looked at Shadowcat.

"I've got it." She told him and entered the nearest room, and ran through the rooms on the left side of the hallway. She kept yelling John's name, searching through all of the rooms as quickly as she could. Her heart was pounding, and she could hear her pulse in her ears. The adrenaline was shooting through her veins and arteries.

Shadowcat swore as she spotted a metal tub in one of the rooms. She came to a skidding stop, using the far wall to stop herself. She turned around, and approached the tub. She didn't know what had her heart thudding as she walked to it, but her suspicions were confirmed. Her heart stopped when she saw the limp figure tied down to the bottom of the tub filled with icy water. She reached underneath the water, gasping at the temperature, and phased John through the restraints and kept his head above water. She looked at the plastic mask over his nose and mouth and decided to keep it on.

With a great feat of strength, Shadowcat managed to lift John out of the tub and laid him gently on the floor. She looked around for something to use to warm him up, but found nothing. She ran to the door to the hallway and shoved her face out, getting Iceman's attention. She helped him through the steel door, and Iceman picked up John.

"What the hell did they do to him?" He asked aloud, looking at the stained gauze.

"I don't know, Iceman. We have to get him out, I don't want to know how long he's been in there." Shadowcat reached for John's throat to check for a pulse. "It's weak. We have to go." She took her X-Communicator from her waist. "Storm!"

"Shadowcat, have you found him?"

"Yes, he was in a tub of icy water and his arms are covered in gauze, but he's bleeding. Iceman and I are taking him to the jet. Permission to do so?"

"Permission granted." Storm told them. "Get the jet ready for our return, we'll go down the conventional way."

Shadowcat smirked. "See you there, Storm. Over and out." She turned to her comrade. "How shall we do this?"

Iceman shifted the limp form in his arms. "Ice stairs and phase from the wall?"

"Sounds good to me."

Shadowcat and Iceman walked over to the far wall, which, fortunately, was facing the jet. All they had to worry about was being spotted by patrolling guards and getting shot at. All in all, it was not a bad deal considering the other ways they could exit the building. She touched Iceman after he had placed John down on a nearby medical table and phased his hand through the wall. He closed his eyes, creating a mental picture of the stairs he wanted to make. Ice with small ruts for traction was his obvious choice. The only trouble he had was making the stairs too large or too narrow for walking. He focused all of his energy into making stairs similar to the ones at the mansion.

"Okay, I think we're ready." Iceman picked up John, who was still unconscious and with a slow, but steady, pulse.

Shadowcat phased them through the wall and onto the stairs. They stepped down slowly, not wanting to chance a fall that would definitely cause serious injury. Shadowcat walked behind Iceman, her hands on his shoulders to steady him. However, they made it to the grass without much trouble. They took off at a trot, fast enough to get a good enough head start, should someone see them, but slow enough that John's arm wounds weren't jostled too much. Whether it was an act of God or sheer luck, they reached the jet without getting shot at.

Shadowcat pulled out the bench seat, sliding out the medical table that had been installed long ago. Iceman laid John down on it, and Shadowcat tightened the safety restraints and focused on finding every emergency blanket in the jet to warm him up. Iceman went to the controls and began pre-liftoff procedures.

Emily raced up the ramps minutes later, gasping when she saw John's motionless form. She rushed to his side, finding his hand underneath the blankets. She brought it out from the covers and rubbed it between her own. He was freezing, and his lips were blue. His dark hair was still dripping. Tears formed in her eyes as she looked at the stained gauze on his arms.

Colossus gently moved around her, going to sit down. Angel and Storm did the same, and Alyssa brought up the rear as she stood beside Emily, looking down at John's body. Her eyes watered, but she didn't let them fall. She wasn't even seeing him. She only saw herself sitting in a room filled with the most advanced dehumidifiers and heat waves as they pumped foreign drugs into her system, stealing her ability to manipulate and create water. She numbly left her friend and sat down.

Storm joined Iceman at the controls and took the pilot's seat. She glanced back at Emily, but knew the look on that girl's face. It was the same one she wore whenever Logan was away on a mission. She wondered at the two adults' fates for a moment, but shook her head. They needed to get back to the mansion.

"Storm?" Cyclops' voice came through the jet's mainframe communication system.

"Yes?" She replied as she brought the jet up from the ground.

"We have a bit of a situation back at the mansion. Magneto's coming, and he's coming back for John. When you get here, have Shadowcat take the objectives to the sub-basements. Push the jet's engines to the max, because I think it's going to get very violent very soon."

Storm nodded. "We're on our way, Cyclops."


	25. Twisted Minds

**Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men, Emily Rachery, or Robi Wexler.**

Cyclops adjusted the settings on his visor with a deft touch of his finger. He could hear the sound of several people sneaking up to the mansion. Magneto obviously wasn't operating on the side of caution, but he had little reason to be afraid. Charles was away, and the X-Men, though skilled, were a small group. His Brotherhood had been growing steadily over the years. Cyclops wasn't worried. This was the home of his students; no one was stepping their dangerous and crazy-ass feet on it unless he gave them leave to, or he knew he could destroy them and completely dominate the playing field.

The second of which was true in this instance.

Cyclops pressed himself against the cold concrete wall, his black uniform melding him into the shadows. He waited with baited breath as the sounds of feet drew closer to the garage doors. His hand was up at his visor in a millisecond, simply waiting to blast several other mutants into oblivion. He turned his face away as he heard a familiar beeping, and the garage doors were suddenly blasted inwards, sending metal and shrapnel headed his way.

He refused to cough as the dust tickled his throat, and then turned to face his enemies. A group of ten immediately stepped into the garage, and it was as though math notations appeared in front of his vision. He sent one blast with enough strength to give a decent concussion as well as induce unconsciousness. He didn't bother to follow its trajectory; he knew it would knock the girl with pink hair out. He blasted two more, taking down his total enemies down to seven. He threw himself out of the way and pulled himself into a tight somersault as the mutants realized they were under attack.

Cyclops swore viciously underneath his breath as he heard the familiar sound of a car exploding. He had landed behind the mansion's SUV, and he laid on his stomach. He took a deep breath, waiting for a foot to appear, somewhere underneath the cars. The moment he saw one, he took the shot and he heard a scream. Using this as a distraction, he sprinted, keeping low, to duck behind his Mazda. He gave his car a gentle pat as an apology if anything happened to her.

"Hey, fucker, why don't you show yourself?" One of his opponents yelled, his voice echoing slightly.

Cyclops smirked. They thought they could taunt him. It was impossible to taunt the leader of the X-Men when he was in battle. Outside, he was merely another man who needed to wear sunglasses at night as well as during the day. During battle, he was cold and distant, merely thinking in terms of who he needed to protect and serious physics (where he could blast, what he could bounce his blasts off, etc).

"Yeah." Came a high-pitched, whining female's voice. "We're just gonna shoot you off your feet if you don't surrender, so you might as well die quicker."

Cyclops crept around, taking advantage of the many cars in the garage. He kept absolutely silent until he was directly behind the group of inexperienced fighters. They hadn't heard him, and he followed them, his smirk growing more and more prominent as he listened to their frantic whispering.

"Think we got him?" One of the girls asked.

"Dunno." Replied the hulking male. "Can't see a damn thing."

"Let's go inside, Magneto told us to look for Pyro."

"Like he'd come with the idiots." 

"Guys! Can we just focus on whether or not we're gonna get our asses handed to us?"

Cyclops quickly erased his smirk, and then spoke up. "That might be a good idea."

"Fuck!" One of the Brotherhood mutants shrieked.

Cyclops quickly eradicated the last seven with the same powerful blast that threw their dead bodies into the shadowy depths. This done, he crouched behind the shield of one of the students' cars. Minutes ticked by, and he let out a sigh when he heard the sound of the jet lowering into its hangar. Most people wouldn't have been able to hear it over the sound of battle, but the jet was his baby, and it was absolutely silent in the garage.

He didn't have heightened senses like the Wolverine, but he knew when something was suddenly terribly, terribly wrong, and that was when the feeling descended upon him.

**XXX**

Storm landed the jet expertly in the hangar, and then shut it down. The X-Men filed out, the mood charged and expectant. Colossus picked up John, who was still unconscious and freezing. Now that they were at the mansion, however, with readily available advanced medical supplies, concern now only aimed at the possibility of a concussion or other internal injuries. Shadowcat gently took Alyssa and Emily's elbows and helped them from the jet to the medlab.

"Will you be all right here, Shadowcat?" Colossus asked his wife.

Shadowcat smiled as she bustled about the medlab, taking different supplies from the drawers and cabinets. "Colossus, put John on the table and get his wet clothes off. There are blankets in that closet." She pointed as she prepared an IV. She was no official doctor, but Hank had taught her several things in case she needed to help someone, whether she was in the medlab or not.

Colossus did as he was told, toweling the soaked Pyro. Storm walked in after sending Iceman and Angel upstairs to help the other X-Men. "Shadowcat, tell me something good, please." The dark-skinned woman sighed, obviously itching to join the battle.

Shadowcat looked up. "He'll be fine. I just need to get him covered up and put some warm compresses on him, and use one of Hank's hypothermia IV bags." She took a deep breath, focusing on John's limp elbow. She gently tapped the soft inside of his elbow and then inserted the IV. She attached the Teflon needle to the IV bag, sending the fluid into John's bloodstream.

"Okay. Unless you need him, we might need Colossus upstairs." Storm told her.

"Take him, I'm fine. Will I stay down here with the other two as well?" Shadowcat referred to Alyssa and Emily who had found the soft patient beds for the rare cases in which someone needed to stay in the medlab over night.

"Yes. They're in no shape to fight, and they need to rest. Good luck, Shadowcat." Storm nodded.

"And to you, too." Shadowcat stood on her tiptoes, her husband leaning down to kiss her gently. "I love you." She squeezed Colossus' hand.

"I love you too." He turned around and faced Storm. "Let's go." And with that, the other two X-Men left Shadowcat in the medlab with her three patients.

Kitty left her Shadowcat façade behind, allowing herself to simply be Kitty. She sighed, deciding not to think about her husband and her friends. Right now, she had a hypothermia patient to warm up and make note on Dr. McCoy's chart to check for possible tissue and brain damage. She had known they shouldn't move him so much when he was unconscious, but it couldn't be helped. They had needed to get out of the building to save John's life, and now they were in a safe place.

Kitty tucked more blankets around John's body, slipping a few warm compresses around his neck, on his hands and feet, and on his groin. She made a note on the chart to change them every ten minutes, and hooked John up to various machines; monitors for his heart rate, blood pressure and respiratory systems. She placed an oxygen mask over John's nose and mouth. She hooked the medical chart onto the end of the table, leaving him for a short time.

"Alyssa, can I check you over?" Kitty asked, approaching the bed where the water-manipulator was resting tentatively.

Alyssa looked up and nodded wordlessly. Her eyes were distant, and Kitty wondered what she was seeing. She grabbed Hank's stethoscope. "Here, take a deep breath… and another… and one more, Alyssa." She nodded, finding Alyssa's chart and marking down her vitals. "You seem to be fine."

"I am not fine." Alyssa's voice was cutting.

"What do you mean?" Kitty asked, putting the chart down. "What happened in there?"

Alyssa sighed. "I don't really remember, but… they just… I feel so dry and empty. I can't feel the moisture in the air. They put me on an IV, but it wasn't whatever's in normal IV." She shuddered.

Kitty exhaled. "Wow." She picked up the chart again. "Are you in any pain? I can give you something for it…"

Alyssa shook her head. "You can't. Don't even think about it. Look at my damn chart." She gestured to the chart in Kitty's hand. "I'm just going to get some sleep, and I think I'll be okay with that. I can't… take anything, not when I'm like this."

Kitty furrowed her eyebrows, flipping through Alyssa's medical history. She went back to the beginning, finding Hank's first notes. She peered at the neat handwriting. She couldn't possibly be reading what she was, but it all made sense. She nodded, deciding against making any mention of it. She could only nod once more, and then rubbed her friend's upper arm.

"You're going to be okay. Just let me take a blood sample and Hank can see what's in you, and if we can't get it out of you before it'll naturally leave your system." Kitty told her, quickly taking a small blood sample and marked it with Alyssa's name. "Okay, we're done. Just get some sleep, girl."

Kitty moved onto Emily, looking her over. "Any pain?" She asked, leaving Emily's side to find her chart.

"No. Is John going to be okay?" She asked, casting worried eyes over to the limp form on the medical table. "He looks so pale, and I just… need him to be okay. You know?" She looked up at Kitty, a married woman. "He's only been back for a little bit, but I'm already so dependent on him for everything. He can be such an ass, but he needs to wake up. He's going to be okay, right?"

Kitty laughed, nodding. "Don't worry, he'll be back on his feet, pissing everyone off again soon enough. I'll take good care of him until Hank can. We just need to get him warmed up. You can go sit with him while I find more blankets and make you all comfortable."

Emily immediately stood up and went to stand by John's side. She found his hand underneath the blankets and held it gently. She stared down at his face, wondering why he hadn't woken up yet. She looked over her shoulder when she heard a soft snore, giggling when she saw Alyssa had fallen asleep, relieved. Alyssa was so strong. Emily found herself admiring her best friend more and more each minute. While Alyssa was strong, Emily had never felt more weak or useless. Kitty wasn't about to let her leave to fight with the X-Men, though she wasn't sure her muscles could stand it. John was unconscious (though Kitty had told her he was merely sleeping now, letting his body heal), and she couldn't fix him. She couldn't do anything to help him. He had done so much for her and had protected her so well. She owed him so much for keeping a smile on her face for most of their time in the cell and keeping her mind off of the cold reality.

"Hey John." She murmured. "I know you're in there somewhere, but just listen, okay? You have to wake up. I know you'll just piss me off again soon, even though you're really different, which I kind of like, you know? I just don't know what to tell you, except to ask you to wake up sometime. Don't leave me again." The last sentence was a whisper, and she fell silent, staring at his pale face, expecting his brown eyes to open any moment.

**XXX**

Logan yelled out as he buried his claws into another Brotherhood mutant. The element of surprise had been blown when his fighting instincts kicked into gear and he'd tackled twin brothers who used gravity and each other to fight off any attackers. They were annoying him and kept throwing things in his general direction for some odd reason. He'd taken them both down and jumped into the fray that erupted.

He sniffed, his nose detecting a scent he hadn't smelled for a while, but one he definitely recognized. Magneto. He slashed three more mutants, and then faced the elderly mutant. He scowled when he saw Mystique at his side. Bitch.

"Oh, Wolverine." Magneto greeted him. "How nice to see you again. Care to… hang around?" He asked, levitating Logan into the air.

"Can't wait to slice you up, bub." Logan spat, attempting to point his claws at Magneto. "Just couldn't wait to get your ass kicked, huh?"

"Mystique, would you care to go to the garage? Our good friend Scott Summers is waiting for you." Magneto sent the blue-skinned woman off with a slight smile.

Mystique sauntered off, taking the form of one Jean Grey. Logan growled, knowing Cyclops would never fall for such a disguise. He could only hope Scott wouldn't crack in battle because he was seeing his fiancée for the first time in seven years.

"You're an asshole." Wolverine growled.

"Well, I've heard that before. Surprisingly enough, I don't believe you're in a position to be making such comments. You see, I could use you to kill all of your friends. Even your girlfriend, Ororo, if the rumor mill speaks truly."

Logan growled, using all of his strength to force himself out of Magneto's hold. "You lay one fucking finger on her, and I will end you." He threatened.

"Oh, was that a promise?" Magneto shook his head. "For some odd reason, I'm not afraid. But don't worry about Storm, she has enough to worry about. As do you, I imagine." He commented, slowly bringing his fingers together and crushing Logan's leg. It healed itself rapidly, but Magneto then broke his other leg, and then his left hip, slowly moving on upwards.

**XXX**

Cyclops held his breath as the door to the mansion opened, the sound of high heels clacking against the concrete floor. A familiar form of a woman stepped out, and Cyclops kept his eyes trained on her. He bit down on his bottom lip, gathering his courage and resolve. He knew it wasn't who his eyes saw, but that didn't mean it broke his heart any less to consider what he needed to do.

"Mystique, I always knew Wolverine was right. You are a bitch." He called out, not going to bother with the ducking and hiding. Mystique was a different kind of mutant, and she had real skills. He would fight her outright, and then end her for having the balls to look like his dead fiancée.

"Why, thank you, Scott. You're a dear too." Jean Grey's voice spoke, but Cyclops refused to react to it.

He pressed the side of his visor and aimed at Mystique, even as she performed a fancy cartwheel to get out of the way. He judged her speed and the distance she would go with one revolution and then targeted a spot ten feet in front of her. He held his breath, and then released it as he shot one beam. It hit Mystique, still posing as Jean, directly in the chest.

"Now take off the damn disguise and fight me." Cyclops ordered.

Mystique gathered herself, feeling the blue skin bruise. He had balls and extreme intelligence, she would give him that, but she didn't think he'd last very long. He may have been the leader of the X-Men, but she was Erik's right hand, despite what Pyro would have liked to believe. The kid had only ever been a pawn, a dangerous one that needed to be silenced. She left Jean's visage behind and faced Cyclops.

"You think you can beat me, that your virtual reality can train you for a real fight with a really dangerous mutant?" Mystique asked as she launched herself at him, aiming for his visor.

Cyclops ducked out of the way, grabbing her arm and pinning it behind her back. "If you're dangerous, then I must be deadly." He hissed into her ear in a treacherous whisper.

He kicked her away, and then blasted her again, but only succeeded in blowing up the Miata directly behind her. He turned around quickly and covered his head, hoping none of the larger shards would hit him. He swore at himself, internally chastising his evident lack of control. He couldn't focus on berating himself further, as Mystique attacked him the moment the dust settled.

He was tackled onto the ground, Mystique above him. He kicked her off, rolling away to push himself into a standing position. He gave up blasting, considering the close quarters and the fact he was now facing the Corvette. He would blast it into oblivion if it would end Mystique, but she seemed much more interested in taking advantage of his 'weakness'.

Cyclops met her blow for blow, giving as good as he got. Unlike what she thought and what she had seen from him, he hadn't been trained by a computer. He had designed that computer program from what he had learned in conventional battle. He wasn't the leader of the X-Men because he was Xavier's poster boy. He had proved himself in hard battle and in the level of strategic skill he possessed. He finally dealt her a sweeping roundhouse kick, and sent her flying. He aimed and fired a blast that knocked her out into the night. He didn't know if she was dead or unconscious or simply injured, and frankly, he didn't care. All he knew was that she wouldn't be attacking him again, any time soon. He left the garage and joined the battle in the mansion.

**XXX**

John murmured in his sleep, completely unaware that there was a conscious world. He was stuck inside a dream, tortured beyond repair. He tried to scream, but as in the dream world, all sound he tried to make was muffled. He twisted and turned, trying to escape the hold of his nightmare, but to no avail. He was restrained in the dark, damp world he now was forced to see. Two figures approached him.

"Ah, my boy." Magneto's silky sweet voice, and John shuddered. "Where did you go off to?"

"We missed you so much." Mystique whispered, her fingers trailing through his hair.

"Leave me the fuck alone. I left you, remember? You can't touch me!" He screamed, thrashing to get out of his dream.

"Oh, but we can." Magneto reminded him. "You do not leave my Brotherhood, except when you have died. You must now pay the price. You will lose the only thing that has ever mattered to you."

"Fuck you, cupcake." John spat. "I don't care if you end up ruling the world. I'd never come back to you. Just leave me the hell alone, and don't you dare touch Emily. I'll kill you." He promised.

With those ominous words, he shivered into wakefulness, and the first face he saw made him smile blearily. Emily.


	26. Maybe It's Time to Come Home

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Emily Rachery or Robi Wexler.**

Robi Wexler, or, as he was more commonly known, Lectric, settled into his battle stance, a fork shoved into the nearest outlet. He touched the fork, electricity flowing through him. He shuddered. The feeling of new electricity in him could almost be compared to sexual pleasure in its ability to touch every nerve ending he had. His hair stood on end, and he gathered a ball of energy in his hands. He crouched down, and waited. The first mutant broke through the nearby window moments later. He snuffed out their life, thinking no second thoughts. How dare they encroach on his territory? Sure, he didn't live at the mansion anymore, but he was still an X-Man. This was still his turf, and he would still slaughter anyone who stepped on his turf that wasn't welcome.

The next two jumped in behind their buddy, looking for the source of trouble. Lectric harnessed the power of static electricity and bound them to the metal refrigerator. He stood up straight, giving them slight smirks. He jolted both of them with eighty milliamps of power, watching them slide to the floor. He walked back to his hiding spot and crouched once more, waiting for another opponent.

Behind his façade of battle resolve, a lesson he had learnt through many fights and missions, he was worried that he would lose his grip and go crazy from worried. One of his best friends, his little sister, of sorts, was down in the medbay, and he didn't know if she was okay, not to mention Alyssa was there as well. His friends were possibly injured and there was a chance they were fatally hurt. He clenched his teeth, and sent his jaw flying into the face of a mutant, trying to cover his pain with the pain of another.

**XXX**

Colossus grabbed the two heads of the two nearest Brotherhood mutants and clonked their noggins together. He picked up one of the limp bodies and tossed it into a group of five others that were rushing him. He sheathed his body in metal when a vase, thrown by a telekinetic, came flying towards him. It shattered against his body and he used that mutant to throw at two others that tried to advance with some sneakiness.

He fought with unusual fierceness. Colossus had never been one to needlessly kill or injure further than a simple knock-out hit, but these men were dangerously close to where his wife was. He loved Kitty with all of his heart, soul and mind. He would do anything for her, and stay by her side through all troubles. Being away from her was torture. He wanted to know how she was doing. If she was hurting, he needed to be there to wrap her in his arms and to take care of her. He needed to do that. It physically hurt him to be away from her.

However, he was wise for someone his age. He knew that Kitty was needed downstairs, in a possibly vulnerable position if someone got through their barricade and found the way to the sub-basements. She could be in serious trouble with three people to protect and only her powers. The part that still remained Piotr, even in battle, knew she was strong. He admired her ability to keep her head high, and often wished he was more like her. He loved her for her persistence, but it was part of who he was to worry for her and to want to take care of her. Most of the time, she allowed him to, even though she could take care of herself. She allowed him to protect her because it was important to him.

Now, they were separated, and he had no way of knowing if she needed his help. He was stuck in this battle, doing what he could to protect the school he loved so much and the people he swore to guard, while his wife could be dying.

**XXX**

Angel flapped his wings, gracefully ascending into the rafters. He waited with baited breath as Brotherhood mutants walked underneath him, looking through rooms and closets, trying to find Pyro. He was normally very calm and clear-thinking, but all he could think about was how violating this was, to have these evildoers walking on almost sacred ground. He turned at a small whisper and saw Nightcrawler standing there, obviously wondering what their joint plan should be.

Quickly, Angel made gestures, trying to explain his idea as best as he could without words. Nightcrawler gave him a nod, and they sprung into action. Angel dropped onto the ground, slowed by his wings, and engaged the five mutants in physical, hand-to-hand combat while Nightcrawler BAMFed hither and thither, distracting them. Several minutes passed by, and though they were outnumbered, Angel and Nightcrawler managed to knock all five mutants unconscious. Angel dragged them into a nearby room and closed the door. They would be out and in pain for a while, so he wasn't too worried.

He didn't leave that area, though, and didn't take the chance.

Angel flew back up into the rafters, Nightcrawler appearing beside him as they waited for the next group.

**XXX**

"John?" Emily's voice asked tentatively.

John blinked several more times before gasping in pain, his feet and hands seeming to be on fire. Which was ironic. But it was a figure of speech! "Yeah, Emily?" He asked, trying to ignore the terrifying memories of the bathtub with freezing water.

"… Nothing." She finally decided, still holding his hand, as if she didn't notice. John decided against telling her. "I'm glad you're awake. You scared me."

"Really?" John's voice took on a seductive quality. "You were worried about me?"

"Well, yes, of… no! Well, I was, but!" Emily sputtered, completely embarrassed.

Kitty then decided to appear with more blankets, and compresses to replace the cooling ones on John's body. She gave him a disapproving look. "John, wait until you get out of bed to try to get Emily into it, okay?" She smiled winningly at the embarrassed feline girl. "Now, John, I'm just going to replace those warm compresses on you, okay?"

"Okay." He watched her distrustfully. He didn't think he'd ever like doctors again, not that he ever had in the first place. They always asked dumb questions and made you do dumb things. John just wasn't a fan of the dumb.

Kitty gently pulled back the covers, keeping him as covered as possible as she quickly and professionally (well, for the most part; she had to nearly touch his groin when he wasn't unconscious, and so he was looking away awkwardly, a fierce blush staining his cheeks) changed his compresses. She gave him a small smile when she was finished, and left the two to do some more chart work and to leave extensive notes for Hank, so he might pick up easily where she left off.

Emily had stopped holding his hand when she stepped back because Kitty needed room, but she resumed her bedside vigil. She didn't replace her hand, still blushing from the fact she'd almost seen his pubic area. The thought didn't particularly interest her. In fact, it would almost disgust (more like frighten) her, if it wasn't such a natural part of a human being.

John looked up at her from where he was lying, simply watching her face. She had found a stool and was perched atop it, her face downcast. Her hands were clasped together as she fought for control of herself. She looked so small and frail, that if he was too rough with her, if he yelled too loudly, or if he grabbed her arm with too much strength, she'd completely shatter and be gone forever. She was the only one who ever seemed to understand him, though they hardly spoke about their past lives or any other deep things that best friends spoke about. They were just best friends because through the worst of it, he knew she would never leave him in the dirt and in the cold, and she knew he would be standing between her and that bullet in an instant. He could take physical pain. He was used to it. The one thing he didn't think he'd be able to survive again was shutting himself away from her.

He would survive if the world didn't care about him. It didn't, anyway. He would survive if he was beaten into a pulp and tossed into the mud. He would survive if he were to be stripped of all pride, dignity and honor. If he still had Emily to pick him up when he fell, when the world tossed him aside, if he still had her to cover up his shame with her beauty… then, he supposed, life wouldn't be too bad after all.

"I'm so glad that we're friends, Emily." John admitted quietly, watching her face as best he could. He reached out with a trembling hand that still burned as feeling returned to his fingers and barely touched her knee. He met her eyes, almost begging her silently to hold his hand again. He needed to touch, he needed to feel… anything. He needed to be sure that she was there, and that she wasn't leaving. He needed to have her hand in his to assure him he wasn't dreaming, and that she was, in fact, all right and not being hurt by Magneto.

Emily blushed when his fingers touched her jean-clad knee. She found his hand and held it between hers, gently massaging it. She blushed when his fingers gently tightened around hers. She smiled at him, meeting his eyes. An odd jolt seemed to ricochet in her stomach and her breathing quickened slightly. She swallowed, but couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his.

John slowly sat up, though his body protested. He was tired and still cold, though his arms were beginning to burn. He supposed that was good. That didn't make it any easier to sit up. The blankets fell to his waist, thankfully preserving some modesty and dignity on his part. Emily stood up, their hands still joined, protesting about him moving and possibly hurting himself, but he wasn't listening. All he could pay attention to was her pinkish-reddish lips. He tugged on her arm gently, pulling her to the side of the medical table. He forced himself upwards still, his heart hammering, and intended on pressing his lips tenderly against hers. He was so nervous and still quite weak that he missed, only hitting the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry." He muttered, blushing slightly. He quickly amended his mistake by brushing her lips with his, and then, when assured of his accurate aim, joined their lips in a short kiss. It was short because he didn't think he could stand anything more (she had such an effect on him), and because Kitty burst into the room unceremoniously and told him he better lie down.

John let himself fall back into the pillows, staring up at Emily with a faint smile on his lips, before cracking up. She was blushing furiously, and he wondered, assuming by the tentative nature of her kiss, if he had been her first kiss. He wasn't so vain as to think she had been saving it for him, but then a huge wave of guilt struck him.

"Emily… was I your first kiss?" John asked softly, unable to meet her eyes.

She sighed. "Yeah… yeah, you were."

"I'm so sorry, Emily, I didn't mean… if you were saving it for someone else, I'm… oh God, I'm such an asshole…" He trailed off. Great. His one attempt at spontaneous romance exploded back in his face because the girl he was trying to be romantic to had been waiting to give her kiss to someone, not have it taken by a jerk.

"It's okay, John." She touched his hand once more. "Really. It's okay." She was still blushing, and she looked so cute. "Just get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." She smiled at him, avoiding his eyes in her embarrassment and secret pleasure at their kiss. She took his hand and held it gently, as if sealing her promise.

Not many people promised him many things. The only concrete things he knew was that Magneto was out to get his ass, he could easily be booted from the mansion if he screwed up, and that Emily would be there when he woke up. John Allerdyce had never been a man for 'forever' and 'eternity', and if they didn't end up getting romantically involved, then fine. He could live with that. He just didn't know what he'd do if he woke up and she wasn't there to greet him.

**XXX**

Cyclops crept along the walls as he entered the mansion, eternally grateful for all of those action flicks he'd watched as a teenager. He had seen a movie, and wondered how the hero had managed to completely turn off all of the lights in the building. He'd looked at the electrical plans for the garage, since he'd seen the power box in there, and found out how to switch several wires so he wouldn't damage the system, but still cause a short circuit. He smirked smugly in the dark as he both turned on his night vision and knew that Wolverine would have only slashed all of the wires, causing expensive damages. Yeah, there was a little bit of male pride there. Was that wrong?

His question would remain unanswered when he heard two distinct sounds. One of them allowed him to discern that the battle had indeed moved upstairs for the most part, save for Lectric zapping his merry heart out in the kitchen. The other told him exactly where Logan was, who was with him, and what was going on. He hurried towards the second sound, knowing Lectric would be absolutely fine on his own. The kid was pretty sharp for one his age, after all.

Cyclops turned the next corner, and came face to face with Magneto's back. Wolverine was levitating in the air, and his adamantium bones were being crushed by the master of magnetism. He was moaning in pain, but he could do nothing. Cyclops suddenly reverted back into simple Scott Summers who was shocked to see the mighty Wolverine so defenseless and vulnerable. He couldn't even blink for another long moment as he watched Logan's entire rib cage get shattered. It was then that he realized where he was, who he was, and the fact Magneto's back was to him.

Cyclops set his visor to a lower setting, one he usually used on hostile teenagers when he was on missions to pick up runaway mutants, mainly to get their attention. He wasn't sure what effect it would have on Magneto, but hopefully, it was enough to piss him off and cover Logan's escape. Cyclops sent the blast flying, flawlessly knocking the elder mutant over and knocking the wind out of him.

"Logan, get your ass out of here." Cyclops ordered, once again completely in control of the situation.

"Thanks Cyke." Logan nodded in gratitude, picking himself up. He cast a glance at Magneto who still hadn't recovered, and then left, flying up the stairs to join the battle, his limbs healing themselves back to perfect working order. His healed bones, with their strength, pushed the adamantium to its previous state: lining his bones flawlessly.

Cyclops moved into the open foyer where Logan and Magneto had been battling. Well, more battling and torturing on Magneto's part, more insult-tossing and colorful expletive creation on Logan's part. He kept his gloved hand on the side of his completely non-metal visor that had served him well when he and Magneto were on opposite sides of the battlefield.

"Why don't you just finish me off now, Scott?" Magneto asked harshly, struggling to his feet.

"You know that's not my way, Erik." Scott replied evenly, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious. "I never kick a man when he's down, or offer him his darkest temptation to go against everything he has ever believed in." His tone had changed and had taken on his famous dry sarcasm.

"Ah," Erik smiled as he stood up straight, brushing invisible dirt from his clothes. "Touché, I suppose." He manually retrieved six small metal balls from a pocket and allowed them to hover in the air, dancing around each other. "So, how will this go, Cyclops?" His eyebrow arched condescendingly. "Shall we fight till the death or will you admit defeat and hand over Pyro?"

Scott smirked, his hand unmoving from his visor, waiting for Magneto to take the first move. The older man, however, seemed content to bandy sarcasm, insults and condescension for a while. He stood his ground, though his arm ached slightly from holding it up so long.

"Erik, you should know the answer to that. I never hand over one of my students, and I never accept defeat." Scott's answer was quick on his tongue. It was no textbook answer with a robotic undertone. It was a fact of the heart, spoken in passion. It was his duty as an X-Man to protect the school, its inhabitants and his teammates. It was his obligation as a man to give second chances, though the ones he gave them to might not seem deserving. And damn it if he wouldn't end anyone who even looked wrong at his students.

"But Pyro isn't one of your students. He left, if you remember. It was the day Jean Grey died. Being an X-Man and prancing about in leather wasn't good enough for him. He needed more." Erik reminded him lightly, still watching the orbs of metal swirl and spin.

"He came back." Scott reminded Erik in turn, refusing to show emotion at what was obviously a jab to throw him off and make him lose his concentration and focus in the upcoming battle. "He left you and came back to us."

"Oh, he didn't come back to you. He came back for the girl… Emily, is it? It was never about you or Charles or anyone else. It was about her." Magneto waved his hand dismissively. "But I digress. It is boring me to stand here. Let us just get on with the inevitable, shall we?"

Cyclops didn't bother to answer. He had slowly been adjusting his visor beam the entire conversation, narrowing it and increasing the power behind it. He had fine-tuned it when he realized what Magneto was suggesting, and the beam had become only a half-inch wide, but could punch a hole through the wall if he wasn't careful. He pressed the side of his visor as he threw himself to the side, dodging the large sphere of flying metal Magneto sent towards him. He would have landed hard on his side if he hadn't tucked his legs in and curved his side, causing him to roll for a few yards. He stood up, widening his stance for better balance.

He barely had time to recover when the larger sphere divided once more into six parts, and all six of them came at him at once. He blasted one of them, but the other five were quicker than his human ability to react. They smashed into him repeatedly, slamming his ribs, his head, his arms and his legs. He cried out in pain when he heard a snapping sound in his side, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. He fell onto his back, and for a moment, the barrage of metal stopped.

"Oh, Scott. You know I would have spared you if you had joined me when I offered the chance to you." Magneto's voice was full of what might have been genuine sorrow. Scott was too busy breathing to try and decipher the man who was trying to kill him. "Now… I'm sorry, my friend. I must kill you."

Scott attempted to swallow his pain, tried to fight back, but metal coils found their way around his wrists and ankles and tied him to the floor where he laid on his stomach. He craned his neck, able to make eye contact with Magneto, who assumed he'd be killing off Scott Summers that night. Perhaps it was his fighting spirit or his plain stubbornness when it came to dying (which often frustrated his enemies), but Scott wasn't about to give up. He'd live. He would. Stubborn thoughts, indeed.

Stubborn thoughts which quickly were eradicated and shoved out of the way by pain signals running through his brain. He groaned, crying out each time a metal disk sliced into him (what a wonderful change of tactic, I know). He struggled and fought against the metal cuffs that bound him to the floor, but Magneto only tightened them, cutting off the circulation painfully to his hands and feet.

Scott looked around for some way to fight, some way to win. All seemed impossible. He ground his teeth, utterly frustrated. It was one thing to be soundly beaten in a fight. He knew the taste of that, and didn't find it too unpleasing. It meant he still could get better, that there were still limits he hadn't pushed. He didn't like to lose, but he could live with it. However, this… being pummeled and sliced to death when he couldn't fight back was the worst. He roared suddenly, pulling even harder against his restraints that only seemed to get more painful. As they cut into his skin, he hissed.

"Scott, what will become of them? What will become of the students without you? What will become of the X-Men? What will become of Charles?" Magneto asked. "I will find your students, and they will be wiped out or they will join me. I cannot have X-brats running around and ruining my plans. As for the X-Men, they will be destroyed, of course." Erik took a delicious pause before continuing his mental torture. "And as for Charles… he will live out the rest of his days, lonely and terrified that one day I will come and take away the only thing he has left: his life. I would never, for even I still have one boundary I will cross, and that is to harm my old friend."

"You bastard." Scott spat, though his anger was somewhat dissolved when the spheres of metal continued to attack him mercilessly. "You will never touch those kids, and you will never come near Charles or anyone else." He fought to maintain control of himself. He would do no one good if he continued to yell like some frantic lunatic during their first time in battle. He had to find control once more. He had to become Cyclops. Scott was too emotionally involved, and he was easy prey for Magneto to emotionally torture.

Cyclops distanced himself from the battle, and looked at his options, which were few. The first was he could stop struggling and hope his death was quick and painless. He could continue struggling as he was, hoping to break free of his metal bonds. The first two options were not ideal to an X-Man, so he continued analyzing the situation. He would not simply give up and hope, and the methods he had been trying were not working. Therefore, it was time for a new plan. He just needed to blast Magneto into oblivion, but his visor was on and he didn't have an extra arm for emergencies.

Cyclops let out a last grunt when a ball drove the base of his spine. He, bleeding and broken, seemed completely out of options. He was suddenly filled with fear because he hadn't had that much time to find out if his beliefs in God and Jesus were true or worth the effort. He didn't know where he would go if he died, and not being sure and not being in control of his fate terrified him. He inwardly prayed, wondering if God would desert him in his time of trouble, for a solution. He leaned his face against the ground, not having the energy left to continue on. He wasn't giving up; his body was. His visor tapped against the floor. The solution hit him, and without a second thought, Scott bashed his face into the floor, putting significant force into attempting to smash the ruby-quartz that now protected Magneto from death.

It didn't work. He frantically hit his visor against the ground, ignoring the jarring to his head and neck, waiting for it to snap. He roared in anger, driving his face into the floor. While he was sure he had given himself a bloody nose in the process, his visor finally snapped enough for the ruby-quartz lenses to become dislodged on one eye. He kept his eyes firmly shut until he was sure his face was towards Magneto.

"I'm sorry, Erik." Scott whispered before he opened his eyes.

His blasts exploded from his eyes, but they didn't destroy everything in their path and punch a hole through the mansion. Scott hadn't kept his eyes open long enough to see the damage, but he didn't hear any screams or sounds of things falling. The only sound he heard was the dull thump Erik Lensherr's lifeless body made when it came into contact with the floor.

Scott wasn't sure how long he listened to the battle raging on an upper floor, or how hard he struggled at the metal that contained his feet and hands. He gave up after a few moments, though he exerted much effort. His wrists were already contused and slightly cut open. Warm blood trickled from several lacerations on his back that were extremely painful, and he was sure in the fact that at least two ribs were cracked. The rest of his body was bruised badly, but other than that and a slight concussion, he was okay. His heart bled for the loss of such a brilliant mind as Erik Lensherr's, though the man had been slightly twisted in his thoughts. He was still a genius.

"Scott!" Logan's voice had never brought him such relief.

"Logan, help me." Scott muttered, glad he had not heard any feet approaching. If he had heard someone coming towards him, that meant he had an audience. "I can't get up, and I need my glasses."

"Okay, hold on. Lay still." Logan covered Scott's arm with his hand and cut away the metal carefully, freeing Scott's right hand. He did the same for the left, and both feet. He helped Scott to his feet. "Tell me what the hell happened as we go downstairs." Logan kept an arm around his teammate, just to assure the other man he was still there.

"Magneto managed to get me down by hitting me with metal balls, and then restrained me. I couldn't move or fight back, so I kept slamming my visor into the ground to try and break something. I did so, and… then… I'm not sure what happened. My blasts didn't destroy anything. They just… killed Magneto, but left his body." Scott leaned heavily on Logan, not sure he would be able to support himself. "I think it's a belated shift in my mutation, but I'm not going to try and see if it's permanent. If it is, then I'll find out next time I fight, but if not, then I'm glad. We have something to bury." He admitted with a sigh as they stepped into an elevator. "How is everyone?"

"Robi got a nice cut in his leg, but Hank's treatin' him right now. Everyone else is all right, except Angel Boy's crying because someone grabbed a fistful of his feathers. 'Ro's up there comforting him while I'm stuck with you." Logan said gruffly, but Scott didn't miss how Logan's arm tightened protectively around him. Scott wasn't one for showing emotion to other men, or letting anyone else take care of him, but he appreciated the gesture and relaxed.

"Warren wouldn't cry." Scott defended his friend. "You're just jealous because your girlfriend isn't tending and fussing over you."

"You're lucky your pansy ass already got beat, or I'd be doing it right now." Logan snapped, leading Scott down the hall to the medlab. "Asshole."

"Wow," Scott muttered. "That's special. I feel loved."

"Kitty, we've got another patient." Logan shouted as they entered the medlab.

Emily looked up quickly and shushed him, pointing down to a sleeping John. "Keep it down. He was really tired…" She trailed off, blushing as Logan sniffed the air and could decipher what had gone on. She, being feline herself, knew the powerful effects hormones had on a person's scent when something sexual had happened. For some people, the smell became prominent only after intercourse, but in her case, she had never experienced kissing of any sort before, so her hormones were thrown into overdrive.

However, Scott could only wait to be helped to a bed. "A little help here, Logan? Come on." He complained, tempted to kick Logan because the Wolverine would never hurt an injured teammate.

"Just get some sleep, damn it. And don't die on me." Logan said gruffly as he helped Scott to one of the beds when Kitty finally arrived from checking on Alyssa. "The kid's a hero. Take care of him." Logan squeezed Scott's shoulder, and then left to find his girlfriend. Scott, since his eyes were closed, didn't see and never would hear of the look on Logan's face. It was one of sheer admiration.

**XXX**

Charles Xavier arrived back at the mansion several days later to a manageable level of damages and repairs that needed to be done, having been informed of what had taken place at his school. His heart had hammered with fear and worry the entire jet flight home, for Warren had been kind enough to loan his private jet (and several million dollars in hush-hush bribe money to use the airport that no one had given or accepted… of course not) to get the Professor home before the airports in Ukraine were opened for public business. He had remained calm on the phone with Logan, the only one in any shape to be making calls, but wondered in agony over his questions: Who had been hurt? Were all of the students all right? Had Alyssa, Emily and John made it home safe?

"Hello Bobby." The Professor greeted the man who had been elected to wait at the airport with one of the cars that had survived the Brotherhood attack. "Are you all right?" He asked in concern.

"Yes, sir, I'm completely fine. Robi was hurt, but now he's well enough to complain up a storm. Logan got a couple bruises, but I think he's better now," Bobby quipped, and the Professor laughed as Bobby pulled out of the parking lot. "Scott got a little messed up, but he took on Magneto."

Charles' heart nearly stopped. Scott was alive, that meant… "Sir, Magneto didn't survive." Professor Xavier sighed, and Bobby glanced back in the rearview mirror.

"He and I had been friends for a long time, but he went a wrong way. That doesn't mean his passing doesn't leave a mark I will never forget, but he is no longer tortured by painful memories." Charles managed to reply smoothly, though his voice broke only once. Erik had once explained those memories to him. Xavier would never admit it, but Erik had every reason to be bitter and to have the motivations he had.

"You're right, Professor. I never really saw him as anything but the bad guy. Marie always could, but he's still up in her head. But Ororo and Scott are already making plans for a memorial service in his honor, and I think that's really… different." Bobby admitted. "I'm not sure, though." He bit down on his lip as he fought through New York traffic, forcing himself to refrain from bad language.

Charles chucked. "Yes, I suppose it is. Not everyone makes a point to remember their enemy, but Erik helped to build the mansion and made it what it is today." Bobby nodded, and the two men lapsed into comfortable silence.

The scenery quickly changed, and time flew by as they drove back to the mansion. Charles adjusted his suit that had been wrinkled slightly from sitting in the car as Bobby slow to a stop at the front door. He opened the door and helped the Professor into his wheelchair, and then picked up Xavier's bags.

"Thank you, Bobby." Charles smiled pleasantly, and allowed his former student to wheel him into the mansion.

The presence of the Professor was quickly realized and the children, whom had recently been brought from the safehouses, raced to meet him. They each smiled and said they were glad he was back, and a few of the smaller ones reached up to hug him. Charles smiled and responded to each of the students, glad to be home. He was still a scientist and an intellect, but his heart was always for these precious children.

"Ah, Logan." Charles greeted the Wolverine as he walked in. "How have you been?"

"Just great, Chuck. And yourself?"

"I've been better. Warren was generous in offering his plane, but still, the news of what happened seemed to take away the novelty." The Professor chuckled. "So, how is Scott?"

"He was pretty beat up when I brought him to the medlab, but Hank's taking good care of him. I was just plannin' on heading down. You coming?" Logan asked.

"And I'm guessing you're going down to find Ororo." The Professor's eyes twinkled merrily.

"Of course. I haven't seen her anywhere." Logan replied somewhat defensively, offended that the Professor would assume anything different.

Neither Charles nor Logan mentioned it when Ororo passed them by on the way to the elevator.

**XXX**

"Hank… I can't feel my arms." Scott complained after the doctor had sewn up his wounded arms, while the anesthesia was wearing off. "I appreciate what you are doing, but I think all of your hard work is for naught if you simply kill off all of the nerve endings in my body." 

"Now, there is an idea." Dr. McCoy smiled serenely.

"Oh, you're hilarious." Scott muttered as the door opened, and the Professor and Logan entered. "Professor! It's so good to see you! Logan, for the hundredth time, Ororo isn't down here." He kept a straight face, but was smirking inwardly. He knew that Logan was coming to check on him, and he thought it was hysterically amusing. Logan still would never admit to liking him, but he was the kind of man that preferred to let his actions speak for themselves.

"Yeah, yeah, Cyke." Logan muttered, rolling his eyes. "Blue, where's the pyromaniac?" He asked.

"Oh, I ran a few more tests and he's absolutely fine. He scraped by with no brain or tissue damage. His heart was touch and go for a while, but I'm sure that there will be no complications." Hank explained. "And the surgery went great, and he should have full use of his powers in a couple days.

"What happened to John?" Charles asked Scott.

"He and Alyssa were experimented on by the Friends of Humanity. It took several days, but Alyssa hasn't left the fountain for anything except meals, sleep and her classes. She had a lot of gene suppressant in her system, but she's absolutely fine now." Scott explained. "John was put in a tub of ice water, and they planted small poles in his arms to suppress his abilities." He shook his head. "Now that the Brotherhood is disbanded…" He sighed.

"There will always be someone else." Charles, too, sighed. "It can be tiring." He turned his eyes to Scott. "You saved a lot of people with your quick actions, Scott. I don't know if I'll ever be able to express my gratitude to you for doing what you did. I know you feel guilty that you killed Erik. But you saved the students." He placed a hand on Scott's arm.

"I know." Scott whispered, closing his eyes. "I don't feel like a hero, though everyone seems to be coming down to tell me that. All I can remember was what my powers did… they didn't destroy him or anything. They just… killed him." He shuddered. "Most are glad that their powers are developing, but I…"

Charles nodded. Scott didn't have to explain to him. Power was a burden that came with great responsibility, and both men knew that feeling well. They carried the future of the world on their shoulders, and it was painful when the cost of doing the right thing was taking the life of an old friend who formed who you were. It was worth it, though, when they remembered the laughing, happy children that were above their heads. Most of the world would never know a hundredth of what these two men sacrificed, but Scott understood that what the world knew or didn't know was inconsequential. It was that they were still fighting for equality with every breath and every action that mattered.


	27. How Far We've Come

**Author's Note: Wow. I cannot believe we've finally reached the ending. This has been quite the experience. I just want to thank my amazing beta, WCUGirl, for being so dedicated to my work and helping me out, and to my reviewers. Though few, you really inspire me to keep writing. Thank you all! Keep your eyes out for a new X-Men fic coming your way. Just what WOULD happen if Jean hadn't died at Alkali Lake? Would she choose Logan or Scott? And Worthington Industries is coming out with a cure. How will that go down?**

**Oh, by the way, all I can say is OMGWHOOT! I broke 100,000 words for my first completed, multi-chaptered story! Thanks to EVERYONE who manages to read everything and not get bored; that's intense.**

**Disclaimer: For the last time, I do not own the X-Men or Emily Rachery.**

The ballroom in the Worthington manor was alight with glamour. Though the public reason Warren Worthington III gave for this resplendent party was a celebration of the success of his company, the truth was quite different. He spared no expense in getting the best caterers, the best bartenders and the best people to put on the guest list. Most of his company was invited, and not just simple executives. He invited the entire economy research team, and his engineers. For all intents and purposes, it was a business party, but there were a few additions to the guest list. Namely, Professor Xavier and his X-Men.

Scott Summers, one of the invited X-Men, knew the real reason for this party, as did the others. It was the five-year anniversary of the end of the Brotherhood, and the five-year anniversary of Erik Lensherr's death. Though the gloom of the day hung over his head, he refused to allow that to bring him down. It was a good day to be alive. He felt content, simply standing on the sidelines and watching the family he found in the X-Men live. There was some definite nostalgia involved, but it only warmed his heart. He cast his gaze about the room.

Bobby and Marie Drake were sitting a few tables away, chatting happily with a friendly couple who had two kids of their own. Marie had that special glow pregnant women seemed to exude as she talked with the other woman. Oh yes, Marie was pregnant with their first child. They had gone with artificial insemination rather than risk traditional intercourse, simply to be safe, though Marie had learned to control her powers for a few hours at a time. Most men would have quailed at the thought of never having sex with their wives, but Bobby was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted Marie, and it didn't matter to him that he'd never have sex. It was simply inconsequential to him.

Scott couldn't help but smile as Bobby leaned in to press a kiss to Marie's lips and got up. Scott nodded to the younger man as Bobby joined him at his table. "You look like you're going to burst with pride if one more person congratulates you. So, congratulations for the millionth time." Scott leaned over and patted Bobby's shoulder fondly with a grin. "What are you doing over here, anyway? Your wife might suddenly need pickles and mustard."

"Ew, that's disgusting." Bobby couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the very thought. "Anyway, Marie and I, as you know, found out the baby's going to be a girl, and I was actually wanting your input on a name. She's letting me have the first one." Bobby grinned as he looked back at his wife. "God, she's so beautiful."

"Bobby, I know she is, but the name?" Scott laughed, unable to contain his joy for the young couple in the prime of their happiness.

"Oh, yeah!" Bobby snapped out of his trance, quickly sobering. "I thought Jean would be a pretty name, but I wanted your permission first."

Scott blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. "You want to name her Jean?" He asked, slightly stunned by the question. He still felt a small ache every time Jean's name was mentioned, but to hear it everyday, and to say it to a small, innocent baby? His face transformed into a grin. "That would be perfect."

Bobby looked relieved, and was about to change the subject when Marie called his name and gestured for him to come back. Without a backwards glance, which made Scott smirk and mutter something about "whipped", Bobby faithfully returned to his wife's side. Scott leaned back, sipping at his champagne.

He turned his eyes to the rest of the X-Men that were spread out across the room. Piotr and Kitty were dancing gracefully, waltzing to the soft music played by the hired band. The Russian leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and she laughed, placing her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. They had been married for six years, and were finally coming to a place of mutual respect. They sometimes did slip back into their old argumentative ways (she was stubborn; he was usually right), but they were coming to a realization that they valued the relationship more than being right and more than their opinions on a single topic that wouldn't survive the tests of time, whereas they could decide whether or not their relationship would.

Scott spotted Logan and Ororo next, though they were not dancing. They had been seated at a table close to the band, and were sitting together, hand in hand, listening to the music. Ororo's head was leaning on his shoulder and every so often, he would turn his face to hers and kiss her nose or forehead, whichever was closest at the time. They were still stuck in the honeymoon phase, having been married only three months beforehand. Almost in sadistic pleasure, Scott couldn't wait until Logan got booted out onto the game room couch. The walk from the bedrooms to the couch was known as the Husband Walk of Shame.

All jokes aside, Scott knew Logan and Ororo to be a good match for each other. Her serenity balanced his sometimes violent anger, and his intensity matched her tranquility. He was good to her, and they truly loved each other. Which was good, or Scott would have blasted Logan into the sky.

Scott stood up, and left his table, spotting Warren from across the room. The Worthington billionaire had been married for several years now. Rumors had flown in the beginning, calling his new bride a gold digger, but after a near stock market crash for Worthington Industries and several offers of marriage from other wealthy businessmen, she was still at Warren's side. Yes, she found Warren's wings very romantic and her pet name for him was 'Angel'. However, Warren was currently without his wife, and Scott needed someone to talk to.

"Warren!" Scott greeted the businessman who turned at the sound of a familiar friendly voice.

"Scott, I can't believe you came. And with those sunglasses," Warren clicked his tongue. "How inappropriate."

'Cyclops' smirked. "Oh, it was all for you, my friend. Anything to crash your party."

Warren sighed, rolling his eyes. "I suppose I'll put up with it. You can be very tedious, Scott." He said dramatically before laughing out loud. "How are you?"

"I don't know what it is, but I was just struck with a blow of nostalgia. Just thinking about everything from there to now." Scott answered, sliding his hands into his pant pockets. "I mean, Ororo and Logan are married, and Marie's having a baby." He gestured to the crowd. "You finally have enough money to throw a real party," He chuckled. "Things have gotten very interesting with time."

"Oh, you can't forget about Alyssa and her flavor of the week, and John and Emily."

Scott quickly searched the crowd for the four people Warren had mentioned. Alyssa and her 'flavor of the week' had been seriously dating for several months, and rumor had it that things were getting serious. Her boyfriend, Darren, was moving into the mansion because he was an experienced teacher, and because he wanted to prove to Alyssa that he truly had no problem with her being a mutant, and in fact, loved her because of it. Scott personally thought Alyssa just wanted to test Darren, to see how far he was willing to go for her. Darren, in Scott's opinion, was a great guy, and he was no expert, but he could definitely see the signs of a proposal cooking in the man's brain.

As for John and Emily… what an unlikely couple.

It had taken them two years since the Brotherhood attack to begin dating. They had taken their relationship very slow, as if handling something very delicate. There were already very deep feelings at the beginning, but it had blossomed quickly. First and foremost, they were best friends who cared deeply for each other. They knew what the other needed and would be willing to go to great lengths to supply that need, though their needs were simple. Love, commitment and protection from their dark demons. They dated for a year, at the end of which, on the anniversary of their first date, John proposed with a small diamond ring. He later apologized to her for the small diamond, but he had saved up for months to buy it himself. Emily had merely kissed him and told him it suited her.

Their wedding had been small and simple. The ceremony had been small, only Emily's parents and the X-Men. Alyssa had been Emily's maid of honor, and Bobby had been John's best man. Oh yes, the two had become friends once more, after two months of trying not to kill each other and learn how to communicate, though they were both so angry at each other.

Scott focused on the scene in front of him. John, Emily, Alyssa and Darren were all seated at the same table, and the mood was relaxed, though they seemed to be enjoying a comfortable silence. John had his chair close to Emily's, his arm around her shoulders, still the instinctive protector he had always been of her. Alyssa and Darren were holding hands, though he was making her giggle by poking her sides with a grin on his face. He smiled to himself. It was so rare to see all of these people smiling in one room. They still ran into a lot of trouble with the Friends of Humanity, and the X-Men were assembled much more often as of the last couple months. He was thankful to God for these rare times that made the dark night so bearable.

He had learned a lot about God from Kurt, simply from the manner in which Kurt lived his life, but it had taken a lot of personal brokenness to come to the place he was in now. He was learning to trust again, and he was finding a way to become closer to God each day. It gave him great peace to be able to lean on someone fully, and not have to wonder if they'll break.

Scott's eyes left the two couples at the table, and brushed over the entire room. They landed on Professor Xavier. Sensing the eyes on him, Charles did not move and his focus did not turn from the conversation in front of him. His mind reached out, however, and brushed against Scott's.

_Enjoying yourself, Scott?_

_Very much, Charles. Just remembering. _

_Indeed, today is a day for thoughts. I miss him as you do, but you possibly saved us all. Hold onto that, son._

Scott smiled, shaking his head. The Professor seemed a constant figure in their lives, a fixed star in the heavens. Scott was painfully aware of a human's mortality, but he trusted that all would come together. It was such a terrible thought, because nothing would ever be the same without the Professor. But he still had many years left to lead them on, and then one of them would be as ready as they would ever be to take up the heavy mantle that Professor Charles Xavier would leave behind.

Scott turned his attention back to Warren, or rather, he intended to, when his eyes landed on a brunette at the fourth table from where he was standing. Carefully angling his body towards Warren as if in casual conversation, he asked, "Warren. Brunette. Table four."

Warren searched for the woman Scott described and then nodded. "Oh, yes. Melissa Hamilton. She's my head economist. She's very intelligent, very witty. She just turned thirty-four. You'd like her…" Warren trailed off. "Hey. Hey. You know what time it is?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Not the dance, we're supposed to be dignified!"

"Hey, I threw this party, and if I want to do the You Gon' Get Some Bootay dance to my friend, then I sure as hell will!" Warren then placed both hands on the back of his head and brow his elbows inward towards Scott. "You gon' get some bootay, you gon' get some bootay, you gon' get some bootay!" He chanted quietly, attempting not to draw attention to himself.

Scott rolled his eyes once more. "Have fun, Worthington." He ignored Warren, his eyes immediately being attracted to Melissa Hamilton once more.

As if she felt his gaze, she turned slightly, her hair moving to reveal her face. Scott was immediately attracted to her. She had a fair complexion with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She seemed to be searching for the source of the disturbance and he met her eyes unflinchingly. He quirked a smile to her, and she smiled back, but turned back to her food and her date.

"Warren. Who's that with her?" He asked in a quiet murmur.

"That's Jordan Carmichael. They've been best friends for years. Don't worry, they would never date. They've known each other since high school." Warren gave Scott a slight push. "Go on."

Scott sighed, and then began a casual walk towards the table Melissa sat at. She hadn't realized he was approaching, and he took that quick moment to silently apologize to Jean, though he knew she would be happy that he found someone he was attracted to, and was in a place where he could begin a relationship. He still felt he was promised to her in some way.

"Hello, miss. I'm sorry to disturb you and your date, but my name's Scott, and I couldn't help but come over." He gave her a friendly smile, cracking below the surface. He had forgotten how hard it was to introduce himself to a woman who he was attracted to.

Melissa looked up and smiled at him, slightly blushing. "I'm Melissa Hamilton, and this is Jordan…" Her date cut her off.

"Melissa, he doesn't care. I'm going to go hit on that hot bartender girl." Her date grinned at Scott, shaking his hand. "Hey there, buddy. Watch out, she bites." He stage-whispered, and earned himself a smack on the stomach.

"May I sit down?" Scott asked, gesturing to her date's empty seat.

"Oh, of course." Melissa smiled at him. "So, you walk all the way over here to introduce yourself and to sit down?" She asked, raising her eyebrows as she sipped her strawberry drink.

Scott smiled in return, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I haven't done this in a long time, but… would you be interested in meeting me for lunch sometime? I would like to get to know you, because I think you are so beautiful." His smile grew into a full-blown grin as she laughed and shook her head in amusement.

"I'm flattered, Scott." Melissa gave him a genuine smile, the kind women only gave when they were truly complimented by a man. "And yes, I would like to meet you for lunch."

Scott didn't know where his relationship with Melissa would go, and if it would last that first date. He didn't know if they'd break up and end up friends or bitter enemies with broken hearts. He didn't know if she might be the one he would marry, and at the moment, he didn't care. The future was a far-off thing, and it was never truly certain. It changed at a person's whim as they changed their mind and took a different path. The only thing Scott knew was that he was finally moving on. He didn't need drugs to relieve him of his pain; he hadn't touched any form of drugs for five years. He was sustained by the love of his family, the love of his students, for he was finally teaching Math and Mechanics again, and the love of a loving Father who was with him every step of the way. As long as he had that love, and he was certain it would never go away, the future didn't matter. It didn't matter what would come, because he would make it through.


End file.
